I missed it all. Another rockin night in lala land. First the Oasis had a bbq with open mic night, so any expat with delusions of grandeur, too much beer in the belly, or MAYBE even actual talent, could get up and sing. Then, the Hilton had one of it's occasional beach parties, with DJ Bassom justa pumpin' out the tunes. He's a great guy, don't get me wrong, but unless it's old school music, I can't bring myself to move away from my shisha and dance.
And oh how I love to dance. I really do.
I just couldn't do it. I couldn't go to either party. Something deep in my soul rebelled. Another party night in Salalah? Nope. Can't do it for awhile. I suspect you know the feeling. You've lived here for awhile. There are only a few places to go that serve "western" food and...let's say it...booze. The Oasis even serves pork, utterly unheard of anywhere else in Dhofar, except the military base. Somehow, after a couple years, the luster of an expat club wears off. I know some people who still go every Thursday, some who go just about nightly, and many who don't bother anymore.
I wanted something else. I wanted what I can't have. I wanted variety. I wanted choice. I wanted to go for a drive and try a new restaurant. Anything but the same thing. The Rotana won. We had a nice meal, amid the caterwauling of Omani babies and children running pell-mell around the restaurant. I cared for about ten minutes about the kiddos, because I have that New England Puritanical thinking that children should be seen and not heard at restaurants, then I got over it and ate seafood until my jaws hurt. It was lovely.
See we can't have variety here. That's just how it is. Time to get over it right? Time to be thankful there are lots of nice people where ever I go here in Salalah, who know me and wish me well. Time to be thankful it's ISN'T an anonymous city with thousands of options. If you walk into the Oasis, or the Hilton, or the Crowne on a Thursday night, the waiters know who you are. Friends will be there. Gossip will be shared and drama observed. Who is with who now? Who's zooming who? What's the scoop? At the Hilton, clothes will be tight, eyebrows perfectly penciled, and the Arab women dressed like it's prom night every night.
Come to think of it, what was I thinking? I missed it! I didn't see any of my buddies become Salalah superstars at open mic night! I didn't see the fabulous ripped jeans painted over awe inspiring hips, sparkly blouses, or any of the full length gowns and high heels worn at the Hilton. I didn't see my Filipino friend of a certain "orientation" tell me I am a FANTASTIC dancer! I missed it all. Sob!
Ah well. I had a good meal. Know what? One good thing about Salalah is if you miss it one night, you can surely catch it the next time around.
And oh how I love to dance. I really do.
I just couldn't do it. I couldn't go to either party. Something deep in my soul rebelled. Another party night in Salalah? Nope. Can't do it for awhile. I suspect you know the feeling. You've lived here for awhile. There are only a few places to go that serve "western" food and...let's say it...booze. The Oasis even serves pork, utterly unheard of anywhere else in Dhofar, except the military base. Somehow, after a couple years, the luster of an expat club wears off. I know some people who still go every Thursday, some who go just about nightly, and many who don't bother anymore.
I wanted something else. I wanted what I can't have. I wanted variety. I wanted choice. I wanted to go for a drive and try a new restaurant. Anything but the same thing. The Rotana won. We had a nice meal, amid the caterwauling of Omani babies and children running pell-mell around the restaurant. I cared for about ten minutes about the kiddos, because I have that New England Puritanical thinking that children should be seen and not heard at restaurants, then I got over it and ate seafood until my jaws hurt. It was lovely.
See we can't have variety here. That's just how it is. Time to get over it right? Time to be thankful there are lots of nice people where ever I go here in Salalah, who know me and wish me well. Time to be thankful it's ISN'T an anonymous city with thousands of options. If you walk into the Oasis, or the Hilton, or the Crowne on a Thursday night, the waiters know who you are. Friends will be there. Gossip will be shared and drama observed. Who is with who now? Who's zooming who? What's the scoop? At the Hilton, clothes will be tight, eyebrows perfectly penciled, and the Arab women dressed like it's prom night every night.
Come to think of it, what was I thinking? I missed it! I didn't see any of my buddies become Salalah superstars at open mic night! I didn't see the fabulous ripped jeans painted over awe inspiring hips, sparkly blouses, or any of the full length gowns and high heels worn at the Hilton. I didn't see my Filipino friend of a certain "orientation" tell me I am a FANTASTIC dancer! I missed it all. Sob!
Ah well. I had a good meal. Know what? One good thing about Salalah is if you miss it one night, you can surely catch it the next time around.
Beach Party (used with permission)
This cake was a box cake with Twinkie frosting. A Twinkie is a revolting American mass produced pastry. I did think the frosting using Marshmallow Fluff (available at Lulus) would be great for people with strong teeth. It also makes a pretty cake.
To make this, prepare a two layer box cake of your choice of flavor. You can certainly make a cake from scratch if that is your preference. The frosting recipe is really for a three layer cake, frosted as you see it in the picture. On two layers, it's a shocking amount of frosting!
Twinkie Frosting
(forgot where I found it)
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1/4 cup whipping cream
1 t. vanilla
2 cups Fluff
3 1/2 cups confectioners sugar
In a mixer, blend the butter and cream until creamy. Add the fluff and whip. Add the vanilla and blend. Slowly add the confectioners sugar and whip on high until light. Frost your cake.
Clearly I am no longer doing a cake a day, but I still make a lot of cakes, usually to order. I hope this one is satisfactory!
Love,
Felicia El Aid
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