Go to Pipasha. Order the KKK (no idea whether the connotations of the name are lost on them). Enjoy. I just did. Mmmmmmmmmmm.

BTW, help: I’m turning into my grandparents. We always used to take the micky out of them because whenever we’d see them, all they’d want to relate is “ooh, we had a lovely meal the other day”! Food = important, as you may have guessed either by reading this, looking at my belly or worse, my Dad’s belly.

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