Tasteless Thai

This has nothing to do with what I’m about to write, but I swear to god, while riding my motorcycle to get some food tonight, I almost crashed into an elephant’s ass. I’m totally serious. That’s living in Thailand for you.

Anyway…

One of the greatest things about living in Thailand, naturally, is the food. Thai food was my favorite long before I ever set foot in this sweltering country, and although I do grow fairly tired of it here and there, I’m sure it’ll still be my favorite when I leave. YET, I take incredible joy from also eating other kinds of foods like Indian, Italian, Greek, or Cajun, to name just a few. Just yesterday I went to a restaurant that featured food “From the Roman empire.” I know, sounds totally strange, but strange enough to make me curious. The food wasn’t that strange, but it was different and delicious.

One thing that may surprise an ex-pat living in Thailand is the food. Not Thai food per se, but the lack thereof of ALL other kinds. This is not entirely true if you are a tourist on Sukhumvit road – the traditional middle-upper class tourist area or Khao San – the sloppy and slightly seedy backpacker area.

My close friend Bill and I decided to go to a local hotel that was advertising a “Mexican buffet.” We live in a very “Thai” area (almost no foreigners or foreign food), and this was an answer to our prayers. The hotel was nicer than we thought it’d be and the buffet almost bugged our eyes right out of their sockets. It was like food heaven and we kept passing each other at the different islands of the buffet going “Can you believe this?” We were simply happy.

For all the lack of culinary diversity in Bangkok, Mexican is probably one of the least represented, much to the lament of many ex-pats who usually name it first or second in the regularly-held, “God, don’t you miss…..” food conversations I’ve been in here. (These are always interesting conversations, where ex-pats describe in minute and sensual detail all the food they are without, as if we’re all stuck in a deserted island subsisting on fish and coconuts). But that just goes more to my point – there’s a lot of Thai food here, and not a lot else.

So, get this: as Bill and I were sitting at our table ingesting the food with relish, we looked uneasily across from us where a lengthy table was packed with Thai police. About 15 of them, they were all leaning back in their chairs with uncomfortable and surly expressions on their faces. We knew they were there as some sort of bribe dinner (the various forms of bribery are more rampant here than I ever imagined). We wondered why they didn’t get up and get their food, and soon we saw why. Waiters and waitresses dressed up in the typical Mexican restaurant outfits (you should have seen the sombreros on these Thai men!) came gliding over carrying steaming bowls of fried rice. They began depositing them, and other Thai dishes in front of the men. Bill and I were aghast. FRIED FUCKING RICE? Surrounded by all this good (and good quality) food, they were not only ordering a Thai dish, but a boring one at that! WHY? WHY? WHY?

It’s simple really, Thais like Thai food ONLY. This is something I have tried to comprehend (while questioning many Thais) and have never received a clear answer. Of course, Thai food is fantastic, but if I was required to eat it for the rest of my life, I’d be pretty damn depressed. Even English food is tolerable if one really needs a change.

Recently, I was on a work trip to Singapore. I was eating with a colleague, a Thai woman, in a giant food court filled with all sorts of ethnic treats. She ordered Thai food. I ordered Korean, even getting extra kimchi, thinking as a Thai, she’d be way into something pickled, sour and spicy. She adamantly refused to touch it. Not even a taste. “I’m Thai,” she said, “I only like Thai food.” I was stunned. Sure, most travelers have been “guilty” of eating at McDonald’s while abroad. It’s familiar, it’s easy, and it’s a piece of home. Besides a few strange differences, (“la biere” in France or a “sticky rice sandwich” in Thailand), we know we can go in there and get a Big Mac combo and feel the comfort in its memorable taste. But EVERY meal, McDonald’s? How do your tastebuds not scream out in agony of this lifelong repetition? Thai food is made up of about 10 basic ingredients, kind of like Taco Bell’s five. They’re blended in different ways and different amounts with different meats, but the tastes are similar. Sometimes sweet, sometimes sour, sometimes both, and always sour.

Perhaps due to the fact that repetition is one of those things that makes me feel like I may actually be going fucking insane, that I cannot understand how it’s so happily endured by others. What would make one eat ONLY his/her own ethnic food? Is it really the taste or some sort of psychological gastronomic security blanket? I’ll leave that question to the academics; I don’t have the strength or life span for a dissertation.

Obsess! Stop!

So, I haven't written here in awhile. I was gone for a bit, but that's just an excuse. I guess like everything in my life, I become consumed by it, rabidly passionate, and then, I just...stop. It's not that I lose my steam, or .. well I guess it is. I don't exactly lose interest, I just get sick of stuff. This runs the gamut from things like pomelos to painting. For instance, I'll buy pomelos from the market. I'll eat them every day, for every meal. I'll become an EXPERT on them. Know how to pick 'em, how to peel 'em, the right way to eat 'em. And then, it starts to get to be too much. And I just, stop. I stop eating them. As mentioned, this happens with activities too, like painting. I'll be suddenly seized with inspiration and be maniacally focused. Sometimes I finish the painting, but often, I don't. Often I get to about 90% done before I quit. Well, it never feels like quitting, it always feels like a break, but I still have 2 unfinished paintings on the easel (and a new one drying near the air conditioner). You could blame it on my annoying ADD, but that's a cop-out too, because that's something I've learned to deal with, at least as best I can. It's a very annoying habit of mine, this finding things fantastically boring after being so totally consumed by it. I don't really know how to control it or stop it. Eventually, I am able to come back to the discarded thing anyway, though it usually takes some time.

The reason I'm talking about this is 1) to explain why I haven't come back to this for a bit, and 2) to give a fatalistic premonition to my declaration of wanting to be a writer. "Being a writer" is one of those things I've always wanted, just like "being an artist" or "being an actress" or "being a marine biologist." Things I always thought I had the ability to do, but couldn't really get around to it. Not to mention, any desire I ever had for the first two professions was muted by the promise of being a starving artist. If there was anything I wanted to avoid in my adult love, it was the prospect of eternal poverty. I don't need to be a millionaire, but fuck, by the time I graduated from high school I was sure as hell sick as living at or below the poverty level. Of course it shouldn't be like that, but it's hard to be the keeper of dreams when you've got no money and no prospects. So, others can take their self-righteousness and shove it.

Anyway, now I AM at a point in my life where I can pursue these previously suppressed passions. A writer? How fucking cliché. Who doesn't want to be a writer? ESPECIALLY of novels. You're supposed to start small, right? From your school newspaper to small articles to short stories, and so on. I suppose so, though I WAS an editor on my school newspaper and I have never liked short stories. For some reason, I love novels, but find short stories test my patience. I read them and feel like I'm back in grad school in one of my long and tedious seminars where I drew pie graphs on my notes and colored in a slice for every 5-10 minutes that ticked by. But marathon novels still interest me, though I find dense writing makes me want to puke.

Anyway (again), saying 'I want to be a writer' means nothing. And as mentioned above, I don't know if I have the self-discipline to finish a novel once it's started. I lack a great deal of self-motivation for long run. I have bought a few books -- the typical "Writer's Handbook," as well as "The Writing Life" and "How to Write Historical Fiction." We'll see if they really help. Historical fiction is my favorite. I'd like to do that, but it'd take a great deal of research and time. I love research, but I'd hate to get SO involved and fail. Rather write about something more familiar to me and fail.

The funny thing about "deciding" to become a writer is that suddenly every word you write (that the public sees, from a friend to the whole internet), feels 10x more vulnerable than before. I've only told two people (and since no one reads this, this doesn't matter), but even a simple email to them makes me hyper-aware of the words I write. Are there any misspellings? Do the words match, make sense, are consistent? Are there any antecedents? Yeah yeah, I know it's ridiculous. Give me some time, and I won't give a shit.