Last night was Amy’s birthday. One night this past weekend when we went out, she ended up falling and hitting her head and getting stitches, so we stayed in for her birthday and had a big dinner instead of having a party like originally planned.

One of the roommates that lives at the apartment complex where Amy and all of my other friends live, is a chef. He has lived all around the world learning and working in different restaurants. He now wants to own his own restaurant so he’s just here for the year doing a masters program in business management.

A few nights ago, and then again for Amy’s birthday last night, he cooked these amazing, extravagant meals for all of us—11 the first night and even more last night. They were by far the best meals I’ve had since I’ve been here. Because he’s a chef and not only amazing at cooking the food, but also presenting it, I felt like I was at a super exquisite restaurant, and we were all so grateful. I don’t think there was one spec of food on anyone’s plate either night.

I made a chocolate cake with pink-colored vanilla icing and rainbow sprinkles for dessert. Two other girls that came made cupcakes as well. We all made Amy cards, and gave her little presents, that she loved. The boys had beer, the girls had champagne, and everyone ended the night tired from being so full.

[Random side note: To add to the original list of things that I’ve been noticing here that are different than back home: regarding making the cake—I had to finally buy eggs, which I’ve been resisting because in stores here, and at the market where they sell them, they don’t refrigerate them. It freaks me out really bad. Why is it so important to refrigerate them at home if it really is okay to do?]