Food Courtship

Sometimes, I just let go. I walk anonymous through the throngs, I look at the curious specimens in their glass cages, and I eat. I love hawkers' centres, I love food courts, I love the winding streets that the truly great cities have, lined with vendors of odd foods.

I like to imagine the minds that first came up with various foods. Who first mashed his rice into noodles? Who decided to roll a sausage in a coat of corn? Who decided to make the plastic dough that can be spun artistically into the prata, that pancake of pancakes? Who first made patties of lamb? Of beef? Of fish? Who first filled tender chicken with molten cheese?

I have been in love with many foods. I taste them still, a chemical romance or the memories of such. I used not to be able to leave a buffet without tasting everything; now I can walk relatively unscathed in the midst of plenty.

I have been with desperate companions, hungry and greedy men; I have been with the most delicate of young ladies, both of experimental and conservative tendencies. All my experiences with food have been interesting.

But I am no snob. The humble hot dog, fried cephalopod, leaf of garden vegetable, root of plant? I eat them all, save for a few enemies which my genes will not tolerate. And I enjoy what I can, for the Preacher says in Ecclesiastes that there is nothing better.