DREAMING OF NOODLE SOUP

Returnees from abroad often describe their trip in glowing terms. Oddly, few if any ever mention the food in any great detail, it's always the atmosphere, the sights, the shopping experience, and this fabulous little hotel near the museum or the park, or somewhere in the old part of town.
Yes, food afficionadoes will note what they ate and why they liked it; but this is seldom simple appreciation for a good bite to eat, usually it's a neurotic analysis of presentation, ingredients, technique, and the colourful native ambiance.

What I want to hear is how fatty the roast pork was, and was it indeed totally scrumptious? Did it make you cast aside your inhibitions and rub it all over your face? Does your beard STILL smell like charsiu?

If you can describe how the hint of star-anise and licorice root, combined with the savoury quality and sheer toothsomeness, over a layer of chewy noodles, gave you a mental orgasm and made you order five more portions just so the moment would never end, I would probably demand that you continue talking for another hour and let us go get a bite to eat right now I know a fabulous place that does baked empanadas to die for that's really close by.
Would you care for another cocktail?


Nothing quite beats an intelligent women with a keen mind for food talking about what she recently ate. There's the half-closing of her eyes as on her mind's tongue she tastes it again, that relaxed semi-smile as she dreamily remembers the wonderful time she had with that cracked ginger crab, a slight parting of moistened lips as all the flavours surge back, and a hoarse low-voiced purr when her taste buds tingle with revived memories.
Quickened breath, sparkling eyes, glowing face.

Fresh eel, steamed black bean clams, grilled frog. Delicious duck, with a hint of smoke. Oyster sauce kailan, mussels, and shrimp.
It takes years to sharpen that sensitivity, often into maturity. But everyone looks so much younger while so engaged.
Magic.


Last night I dreamed of noodle soup. A big bowl of seafood broth, clear but rich, with large chunks of fish barely poached therein. The addition of turmeric and spices to the stock provided a perfect foil, fresh greens gave a beautiful contrast and added sweetness, and the merest spoonful of chilipaste floated into the surface of the soup rounded out the taste.
Broad rice-stick noodles.

Naturally I woke up in a sweat. It was the tropical environment.
No, not where I am now, but where I was while dreaming.
Some place with ninety degree weather.
A jade-green country.


I should have soup. Sometime soon.
Don't know where right now.
But it will be good.


Crisp green chilies. Fresh cilantro. Wedge of lime.



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