August 17, 2013
My father cooks good food. Live in our house for a couple of days and you will know what I mean. The other week, I came home to sumptuous pork ribs with some sort of honey-barbecue sauce and I knew my life was never going to be the same. I'm not exaggerating. Even his fried rice is something to watch out for. I don't know how he does it, really. He spends a few minutes in the kitchen and churns out the best kind of food every day. My resolve to lose weight is hopeless. And I'm not complaining.