On the merits of restaurant eating...
I have discovered (or rediscovered, if you will)the joys of having someone else prepare food for you (read: me). And to pay for said food with cold cash, or plastic, with no hidden reciprocity implied. A clean, even transaction in which no one gets hands dirty, of course, when one uses a fork, which I did not...
One of the basic tenets for restaurant eating, in my humble opinion, should always be... something I cannot prepare for myself. Which in this case was true. I love Thai food, ever since Petey Q and I spent a weekend visit of mad excess and he took me to South Street to bask in the initial pleasures of Chicken Satay and Pad Thai...
Now, of course I refuse to believe that this food is either as authentic or inauthentic as it appears... It is most likely hanging in the balance, a mediocre middle-ground for those who know, and a delight of the senses for those of us that do not.
I claim ignorance, blissful in all its glory: peanut, cocunut, ginger, lemon grass, blissfully concocted to please my neophite palate. And in this bliss, I am proposing a new beginning, a starting over, a rebuilding...will it work? Who knows... but as a veteran game-player, I can never back down from a double or nothing bet.
Today the madness subsides, if only for a few minutes, so that I may breath, collect my thoughts, render myself helpful rather than helpless. I will go to my house, I will wash the dishes, I will smile at the thought of preparing dinner, watching a rented movie, avoiding my work. I have begun the novel/ memoirs of an expatriate girl, it now has chapters and the beginning of a list of epigraphs, stolen from pop-songs of the era, all authentically listened to in the moment...
Which reminds me, I must anon, exiting stage left, as my presence is solicited at rehearsal... (why am I telling myself this? to convince myself to do it, of course).
Foot before foot, eyes cast down to not trip, dress hiked up about my thighs, to ride my bike home, casually, inadvertently, not falling down. This is me today.
One of the basic tenets for restaurant eating, in my humble opinion, should always be... something I cannot prepare for myself. Which in this case was true. I love Thai food, ever since Petey Q and I spent a weekend visit of mad excess and he took me to South Street to bask in the initial pleasures of Chicken Satay and Pad Thai...
Now, of course I refuse to believe that this food is either as authentic or inauthentic as it appears... It is most likely hanging in the balance, a mediocre middle-ground for those who know, and a delight of the senses for those of us that do not.
I claim ignorance, blissful in all its glory: peanut, cocunut, ginger, lemon grass, blissfully concocted to please my neophite palate. And in this bliss, I am proposing a new beginning, a starting over, a rebuilding...will it work? Who knows... but as a veteran game-player, I can never back down from a double or nothing bet.
Today the madness subsides, if only for a few minutes, so that I may breath, collect my thoughts, render myself helpful rather than helpless. I will go to my house, I will wash the dishes, I will smile at the thought of preparing dinner, watching a rented movie, avoiding my work. I have begun the novel/ memoirs of an expatriate girl, it now has chapters and the beginning of a list of epigraphs, stolen from pop-songs of the era, all authentically listened to in the moment...
Which reminds me, I must anon, exiting stage left, as my presence is solicited at rehearsal... (why am I telling myself this? to convince myself to do it, of course).
Foot before foot, eyes cast down to not trip, dress hiked up about my thighs, to ride my bike home, casually, inadvertently, not falling down. This is me today.
posted by ilana at 5:57 p.m.
1 Comments:
I so look forward to read the first chapters. Will some of it be posted here or do we have to wait for the hardback edition ;)
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