No Imagination

The Midwest has no ethnic food. I am convinced. Fortunately, my mother is an excellent woman and mailed me delicious sweet chili sauce. [This delightful sauce has, in the past, made claims to be ideal with "chicken, pork, shirmp," etc. Shirmp? Shirmp. For the record, and aside from the sketchy label, this stuff has no preservatives and is delicious.] On my trip out here, I packed rice noodles instead of another pair of shoes. I can't get a ride to the store for fresh tomatoes, mint, cucumber, lime or lettuce, but my friend is willing to sacrifice a basil plant for our dinner.

Digging through the communal spice cupboard, I season the chicken with salt, pepper, lemon peel, and accidentally too much garlic powder. A few hours prior, I sliced some onion to create a fresh pickle - sugar dissolved in hot water, white vinegar, salt + whatever vegetables look tasty [only a lone onion is available in my case].

Noodles, sweet chili sauce, chicken, topped with fresh basil and my lightly pickled onions. 100% better than Saga.

Something Green

Today, we missed the farmers market. Again. I've had enough college food for a while and am ready to eat something intensely green.

Currently, I live in a crumbling Michigan town. Yesterday, I decided to walk downtown and gather flowers from empty lots and sidewalk cracks. Peering through the windows of abandoned retail and restaurant spaces, I feel sad. The architecture is beautiful, the brick intereriors and exposed beams are exquisite, but there is no one to turn these places into businesses for more than about two seconds. And there is no one to dine.

Still, it is good to dream. So I dream.