Some people are dim

Me and Ruth had a conversation that went like this

Ruth: Why do you keep you apples in the fridge? [This was not an innuendo]

Me: Because it stops them from being floury.

Ruth: Why would you want to stop that? [At this point I stare at Ruth who is a vegan and want to rub my fur hat on her]

Me: What do you mean, Ruth? Are you crazy and disgusting?

Ruth: There's a certain red apple that is nice when it is fluffy on the inside.

Oh my god, I want to be sick. I tell her that she is definitely crazy and disgusting and that this kind kind of apple is a Crapple. And that when a braeburn is involved, it is a brae-burn's victim. The worst culprit is Golden so-unDelicious if i was that apple's mother I would give it up for adoption.

A bad apple - a crapple - it ruins my week. Sometimes I wonder if apples are worth the risk. They are, but it's a close call.

Chop my sushi, not my tushy; Dicing with death at Planet Stabby

The other night I went to Planet Sushi. It had been on my mind since that morning, when I had read about it on the metro. Direct Matin, page 2; some bloke had teefed some sushi recipes from the Place Monge branch. The entire restaurant team had chased him down the road. An overexicted sous chef had bought a knife, probably just to waggle at a safe, but menacing distance. But you know how it be, things got heated and - maki's-your-futo roll - Mr Recipe Thief was stabbed. To death. The Japanese don't take sushi lightly. And this is what I like about them.

I'm not sure if it's the same for the others but Planet Sushi on Rue Montorgeuil is a bit Jordan and Peter, season 1. Light pink satin drapings, pearlised lights; I kind of expected pot pourri. It's also more expensive than other sushi restaurants. But don't - do not - let this tempt you to steal. They will stab you. Anyway, there is a reason for the higher prices: kidney-sized cashew nuts, and soft, smokey grapes for nibbles. With FREE toothpicks to eat them with. And also, also, they do things like sushi with lettuce rather than rice!! No carbs! Waaaaaay cooooool... if you're a dicknose.

I had a punchy cabbage salad and the japan roll; 10 rounds of rice which had somersaulted through avocado and salmon and tuna and omelette. There was cream cheese in there too, but not enough; a few dashes of soy and my spheres crumbled like the Berlin wall. Zara, however, (one of my Ben surrogates for the evening) went for salmon sushi... deep fried. Good girl; there's a reason fried and friend are so similar. She said she loved it more than her boyfriend. A chessboard of mixed tempura, and teriyaki salmon also looked like they'd be up for a laugh, but I didn't try them so I wouldn't like to comment. The wine was nice. Grapey. Like the grapes. I see what they did there.

Of note - perhaps soon in Direct Matin - was a strange, dry-skinned man who was "guarding" the toilets, although I don't think that was his job and I don't think he was supposed to be there or take such an interest in our toilet activities. He was nearly as scary as Zara's Metro Hat (MH) - a thinsulate number designed to deter gangs such as Gare du Nord Massif and Def Mafia. Normally she is very pretty but it made her look like Philbert, the senegalese boy from my French class.

This blog entry would not be complete without a shout out to the other diners. In the left corner, the two-meal tempura temptress, Natalie Willans; and in the right, put your hands together for the girl who spent most time alone in the bogs with the dry-skinned perve: Asana Greenstreet. New to Paris and about to buy her very own Metro Hat...