About Here


Sometimes, led merely by the instructions of a friend who also misses vegetables because working in the city often means quick lunches, you find yourself going through the door of a shop that looks very much like an ordinary Asian supermarket but turns out to be a real kitchen, a little corner of Asia and in the middle the city you thought you once knew, you are transported, over lunch-break on a Tuesday, to a completely different continent.

The bell above the door tinkles as you enter and you make your way to one of the red formica tables and in the warmth of all the retro-redness (sea-side cafés in coastal areas of rural Ireland that served battered cod and chips soaked in white vinegar, come to mind) you look at the blue plastic cut stripes as door curtains opposite, acutely aware of the scent of something exotic being deep fried and very soon a glass of mangoteen juice is served by a friendly face, apologizing for the weather and you look out at the rain pelting down outside, a little bit surprised by the fact that you had already forgotten it was raining and realize, it might well be monsoon time for all you know.

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