I can sometimes be overly practical; blame my New England sensibilities! Even my desire to uproot and move across the water to Berlin is steeped in the work-mode desire to immerse myself into the go-go world of start-ups and innovation and Helmut Lang. I have zero dreams to backpack across Europe or live off the land. I very much crave a sense of security.
However, part of me is hoping that, after a sizable amount of my loans are paid off, I have this identity crisis and have to go lose myself in Asia. Maybe I do odd jobs here and there, but mostly I spend my days in dim sum shops and at street vendors eating dumplings, fried meats, fresh produce—even the stinky Durian—as my waist line gets larger and larger until I resemble a dumpling! Perhaps I start a relationship with a quiet Thai boy who thinks my American yoga is silly, and berates me, and I let him because he cooks me real Thai food. You know, something along those things.
Until then, I will toil away in my kitchen, making bastardize versions of Asian staples and the loosey-goosiest of spring rolls that only a novice roller could love and my imaginary Thai boyfriend would likely hate.
I took a ten minute shower and when I came back I found this nibbling away at my half eaten roll from the night before. I didn’t have the heart to take it away, as its been months since I cooked for someone.
The baked rolls blistered in the oven, but a stomach cannot tell the difference between misshapen and perfection. Which is good, or else my stomach who be quite upset a good amount of the time.