Break Out
Thus begins a series of notes about my recent travels. I didn’t post them earlier because they were mostly written as notes or based on notes scribbled in free moments in cafés, restaurants, train stations or buses. I have tried to modify them only enough to make sense of them, not to make them read-worthy.
Not a particularly daring beginning, but it was enjoyable.(16 Jan 08 | Beijing)
Lights Out
So I’ve been traveling in southeast Asia. I’ve seen and learned a lot. This post really has nothing to do with that.
It’s really just an observation—Asian people must be kind. Or at least lacking in that humorous malice that Westerners specialize in.
Here’s where I’m coming from. It’s a relatively standard Asian engineering practice to place light switches outside the rooms they affect. So, to turn on the lights in the bathroom, you hit the switch in the hall on your way in. It works. I’ve used these switches for months and, after three or four nights of gently probing the wall in the dark, didn’t think much about it. Then I started sharing living spaces with other people, and I found myself a little worried that someone might accidentally turn the lights off on me. I quickly reassured myself by recalling the complete absence of any such prior occurrences, but I still wondered.
And then I imagined what it would have been like to grow up that way. I had siblings. I think I would have either developed bat-shaming night vision or had a flashlight surgically planted in my head. Seriously, I can’t imagine that ever getting old—it’s always an inconvenience to have the lights turned off on you, and others’ inconveniences are continual founts of juvenile joy.
But it’s not the slightest problem here. There’s a lesson to learn from Asia. Or, optionally, one to teach.
Setting Up
Diggin’ In
It’s about time.
I mean, I’ve had my own place for over a month now—kitchen just sitting there quietly. Patiently waiting.Two things drove me to my madness.
1) May. The person, not the month. She’s really great at gently and not-so-gently teasing to encourage positive behavior. In this case, she teased me at the last couple meetings when I brought drinks or fruit. I figured it was OK since I was a guy, but the guys who have come before me ruined things by being kitchen wizards. Since there are a number of them that cook, the girls can skate in with pre-made stuff and nobody notices. But we guys are rather the minority. And the vets had been cooking, so the bar was set.Allow me to hesitatingly question the sanity of these guys. I mean, I’m all for cooking and that, but when the girl:guy ratio is hovering somewhere around four to one, why divulge your culinary prowess? Keep it to yourself; let the kind ladies take care of you. They like it, you like it—everyone’s happy. Start cooking and people start expecting it. I’m just sayin’.
2) My olive oil. I was about to cook. I could feel a rubbing deep within me that gradually produced heat. It was going to spark; I just didn’t know when. So I thought I’d fuel it. On a trip to Walmart, I purchased a bottle of olive oil and a fruit bowl. I was ashamed every time I went into my kitchen. My empty fruit bowl sighed quietly for purpose. The olive oil teased the cultured man buried deep within me. The fruit bowl was filled within 48 hours (and subsequently emptied even more quickly). The olive oil took about a week to work its magic.
So, the gauntlet was thrown at last week’s SF. The theme this week would be Mexican. I surreptitiously picked up said gauntlet and ran to the computer.
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I’m in China. And they don’t really sell the ingredients necessary for most Mexican dishes. But after a dogged browse, I found what I was looking for—a simple Mexican recipe that used fairly common ingredients. Including salsa.
Now I can buy salsa here at an import store, but buying it would have been about as cost effective as having some shipped via two-day mail from home. So it was back to the recipes. Soon I was staring down a salsa recipe whose main ingredients were right around the corner from me. Sparks were flying.
One trip to the store later, and those sparks were a legitimate flame of interest. I wandered around the store continually re-shocked to find everything I needed. Even fresh cilantro, limes, and chicken bullion with English packaging. I came home, cleaned my produce, and made salsa. I even added ingredients and made up my own steps to make it more the way I thought it should be.
Driven by my initial signs of success, I stocked my kitchen and pressed on. The flames had blown up into a raging inferno. I not only made my chicken tortilla soup, but made up a marinade and made my own dinner for the first time since getting here. I even had cilantro garnish.
So, no, I’m not an accomplished chef. Considering similar historical trends, that fire is probably going to burn itself down into some smoldering coals in a little while. But I’ve cooked.
It tasted good.