Can't cook or won't cook?

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I know this to be true having witnessed this from an early age. Watching my mother slave away in the kitchen to appease the hunger pangs of my father, brother and I. There are very few occasions I can recollect where my father had left food on his plate. In fact, the most vivid memories I have of family meals consist of jars of pickled onions, mango chutney and green peppers taking up the table, and my father’s dinner plate strewn with olive pips. Homer Simpson springs to mind.

I also recall my mother painstakingly preparing dinner for a number of guests my dad had invited to our home. As an Arab, my mother would never be satisfied with just serving a simple dish. There would be salads and dips, followed by meat and then a sweet she had baked. All this activity would take place whilst my father was in the living room entertaining guests, smugly knowing they were about to be blown away by the food on offer.

Perhaps naively, I wanted to recreate the satisfaction that I remember from my parents’ dinner parties, however I was so unprepared for the amount of effort it would take…

With Ramadan in full swing and dinner parties seemingly the new going out, I invited a few friends over for a casual dinner party. I only intended on inviting around six people (the capacity of my dining table) but this soon became nine, ten, eleven and then twelve. Yep, I’d set myself the mammoth task of cooking for twelve! Not something I’d seen my mother, whom I consider a culinary genius, do! As the big day edged closer, I found beads of sweat forming at my temples every time I thought about it.

Shopping for the ingredients was a chore in itself – why is it next to impossible to find Ricotta cheese in this city?! What hadn’t crossed my mind is where I was planning to seat everyone. With only a small dining table for six, I soon realised I better purchase a fold out table and some extra chairs.

As I struggled through the aisles of Carrefour, bumping into children on trainers with wheels, clinging to the fold out table I was about to purchase whilst pushing a trolley with three fold out chairs hanging from my forearm, I prayed hosting this dinner party would be worth it. I mean, could I really pull this off? I can barely cook for myself, let alone twelve people! Or is it that I won’t cook for myself?

I watched as the Filipino checkout lady swiped the barcodes of my purchases. The end result was a bit of a shocker, something my plastic credit card was definitely not expecting, but I perservered.

Luckily I’d bagged myself a parking spot close to the mall entrance, so the trolley journey to my car would be to painful. I loaded my car with the goods, leaving the table until last… To my horror, it wouldn’t fit in my car! I turned the table around, attempted to take the roof of my car down, stripped the table of it’s packaging, making it vulnerable to scratches and scrapes. Nothing worked. I pushed and pulled and after 20 minutes of struggling, finally managed to wedge the beast in. I was sweating. It felt like I’d just wrestled with a grizzly bear in the 45 degree heat and 80% humidity, only then to go home and slave away over a hot stove for two hours!

Despite the odd setback, I actually enjoyed preparing for my dinner party and found that I have a talent for baking cakes. Perfect wife material. I was in the kitchen until 2am, having completely forgotten to eat myself. I opened the fridge in the hope of finding a midnight snack to gorge on before bed… Nothing. Nothing but the ingredients for my dinner party. I was tempted to scoff some of the cheese but knew it was too important to sacrifice. And so I went to bed hungry, having fasted all day and knowing I’d be fasting all day the following day. At least I’d appreciate the meal I was cooking!

The day of the dinner party arrived and I rushed home from work to complete my task. All was going well and I was slightly comforted by the fact my flatmate, a former chef, would soon be returning home and could help me out. But before I knew it there was a knock at the door… E and Mr A.P had arrived. Arrrggghh! I looked a mess – lack of make-up, strapless dress with bra straps protruding… not a good look.

I gave them simple instructions on the small tasks left and went to spruce myself up. As my guests trickled through my front door, I began to feel a sense of self-pride. Is this how my mother felt when cooking for my father and his friends? Or was this a deeper satisfaction as I was cooking for people I’d invited?

I’d already laid the table out and decorated the room with candles and so there was nothing left to do except dish up. I hoped that my guests had had enough wine on an empty stomach to not notice any flaws in my lasagne… As we all huddled around the table, I began to wonder what would be said of my attempts at a feast. Would my friends be polite and pat their stomachs as they winced and swallowed another bite? I guess I’ll never really know what they thought, although I think the coffee cake I’d baked went down pretty well.

Is it even the food that matters? I hate to lessen the worth of my mother’s dedication in the kitchen all those years ago, but I can’t help but wonder if it really is just the company that makes or breaks a dinner party. Afterall, I was surrounded by my nearest and dearest and everyone at the dinner table that evening was worth the hours of effort. Or perhaps it’s the entertainment? If that’s the case, I recommend to anyone hosting a dinner party to purchase electrocution games, post it notes and porn!

All in all, the evening was a success and I was up until all hours playing electrocution roulette with the boys whilst they drank… tequila and coke!! I think the reason behind hosting the dinner party was achieved. It was definitely one of those nights I won’t forget. For so many reasons…

Not so action woman

I haven't blogged for the last couple of weeks, mainly due to the lack of action I've been having, but also partially to my new-found love of all things active. I know! Who'd have thought? Me, doing physical activity! There's always a method behind the madness though, and what else would it be other than a man? Ok, that's not the only reason! I've also been getting active because a) It's ramadan and I haven't needed to take time out to nurse a hangover, b) I am getting sooo out of shape that it's become necessary for me to exercise and c) I need to meet new people and put myself back out there!

Well, I can tick off all three. Although B is perhaps debatable. So whilst it does kind of come down to a guy, I'm hoping it's something I'll continue regardless. 

I bet some of you are wondering what these "activities" are exactly... No, it's not rampant sex. Unfortunately. But oddly, it feels almost as good. I'm talking endorphins, you twisted people!!

For months I'd been begging M to take me wakeboarding, but so little faith she had in my awakening skills after a night on the cosmos, that she never encouraged me. But alas, some of my friends have a little more faith and I'm incredibly grateful to E for showing me the light and taking me boarding.

Yes, waking up at 6am at the weekend to make the hours drive to the Marine Club in Um Al Quwain is torture and not my idea of fun (anyone who knows me will know I'm really not a morning person). But, the benefits are not to be ignored - beautiful sunrise, a clear Sheikh Zayed Road, silky smooth water, energy to take you through the day and still having the afternoon free to do other weekend activities. It's just a shame the drive isn't more aesthetically pleasing. The 311 highway really does offer very little in terms of visual stimulation, apart from the odd glimpse of a camel, which is now a rare sight in Dubai.

When you arrive at the Marine Club, there's a certain energy and community feel about the place. Most people there are wakeboarders and skiers and seem to bond over their mutual love for the sports. There's no booze at the club (sigh), but they do make fabulous milkshakes, so I can overlook that flaw for now. Everyone hangs out at the pool or in the restaurant watching wakeboarding DVDs and chatting away. But it's only when the boat pulls in, ready to take them out onto the water, when the real buzz kicks in.

We all pile into the boat and it tends to be the most experienced boarder who goes first. They make it look so easy, but I now know the reality! Everyone glides over the crystal waters, slaloming, jumping, switching, it's all very cool to watch... until it gets to me! I'm pulled over, under and backwards, never really managing to get up and filling my lungs with the saltiest sea water you can imagine. Hardly the picture of glamour I try to portray of myself! 

Coughing, spluttering and hacking up all the water from my sinuses, I continue to give it another go. Granted it's only my second time wakeboarding but it's still highly frustrating. Having said that, the encouragement from other boarders is truly amazing and they're all the same with each other. The constructive points they all give each other (and me) really makes you want to stick at it and keep trying and trying and trying. And so I did.

I've managed to get up on the wakeboard now, which I consider a massive acheivement, and am very proud of myself. However, you really need patience and determination. Giving up isn't an option. Normally I'd have thrown the gauntlet down by the second attempt but, as the other wakeboarders were so encouraging, I've stuck at it. Usually, if there's the slightest whiff of competition and I'd bolt for the door, but it doesn't seem to be so much competitive as it is self-improvement.

The other benefit of wakeboarding is the eye candy. I'm not one to go for pretty boys, of whom there seem to be a few of at the club, but it makes a change from having to look at Dubai's usual set of absolute mingers you find in the bars. Plus, the pretty boys actually speak to you as you're there for the same reason as they are.

So I'm definitely sticking to the sport. Not buying a board yet, but once I can stay up for a decent amount of time, it is something I'll definitely consider investing in.

Aside from the wakeboarding, I've returned to swimming regularly. You really do take having a free outdoor pool on your front door step for granted. Having barely used it (except for tanning purposes) over the last 3 1/2 years, it's come as a surprise how wonderfully convenient it is. I wake up before work, swim a few lengths and feel surprisingly awake and ready for the day, rather than hitting my snooze button over and over again before waking at 8.50am and realising I have to be in the office in 10 minutes! Plus everyone knows swimming is one of the best sports to tone up. Who needs a gym and running on a treadmill when you can swim a few lengths in Dubai's glorious sunshine?!

Anyway, last but not least, the other sport I'm getting back into is rollerblading. Before I moved to Dubai, blading was one of the only sports I participated in. I'd been blading since I was about 13, up and down the road I grew up on, round the block and, of course, to roller-discos. When I lived in London, I continued to be a regular roller-disco goer - speed skating in circles to house music, to dressing up in 70's gear and skating backwards to disco grooves. I loved it! However my beloved blades were just to big and heavy to accommodate on my stingy baggage allowance when I moved to Dubai (yeah, thanks BA) and so blading became a thing of the past... until now.

Earlier this year, I bought myself a brand new pair of Nike Bauers. It was love at first sight and I couldn't wait to put them to good use. A couple of the girls in the office agreed that they'd come blading with me (I'm not keen on doing sports on my own) and I was too excited about the prospect! However, getting the girls to actually come blading was a different story altogether. Working hours and weather being the most common excuses used. So my poor blades sat in the boot of my car for a few months, untouched.

A couple of weeks ago, I got to talking about blading with some of my friends, and Mr A.P mentioned he had a pair and wouldn't mind giving it a bash after having not bladed for a few months. This was music to my ears and in my head I built up all kinds or romantic images of us roller-blading into the sunset together...

That couldn't have been further from the truth! One evening last week, Mr A.P and I met up for a quick sesh. Blading sesh that is! I couldn't wait to show off my spin-stops, jumps and backwards skating, and so off we went to Jumeirah Beach to use the skating track. I jumped out of the car and donned my blades immediately. It felt weird to be back on wheels after so long, but I was too excited to be weary.

We crossed the sand in our blades to the track. Mr A.P hopped on and started blading and then I stepped on to the track. The track was so smooth that, within one stroke, I felt myself going... downwards. Yep, I fell on my arse. I blame the fact the blades were so new and didn't have stoppers (although that wasn't a problem with my old pair). It was mortifyingly embarrassing. Not only had I bragged about how I used to skate, I fell (and rather heftily I might add) right in front of the guy I was trying to impress. My credibility left me at that moment, like a person's soul when they've just died.

Not wanting to show how much of a wuss I am, I quickly picked myself up and pretended I was fine. I did have a bit of a wobble to begin with, but I didn't fall over after that. I was still far from cool though, and after 15 minutes, I was so exhausted, I was struggling to blade. It really takes its toll on the old calves, you know. It actually came to the point where Mr. A.P had to push me along the track! Although, to be fair, it was almost 6pm and, as I was fasting, I hadn't had a drop to eat or drink all day, so my energy levels were pretty low.

He put his arms around my waist and shifted me along the track. I wanted to spin round and kiss him, but I thought better of it considering I'd already fallen over without trying to do anything! It was still nice to have some alone time with Mr. A.P, even if I was too chicken shit to make a move. And despite the amount of pain I felt, and still feel, in my coccyx, I'm looking forward to our next blading session, where I'm hoping there will be a little more movement...