He Who Eats Alone, Dies Alone

So I try not to do it. Chris shared that proverb with me a couple of years ago, and I don't know why it stuck in my mind. He seemed so sincere in saying that one really lives by that in Africa.

I've tried several new foods in the last few days. Monday night I was having a serious case of the blahs, which I will blame on the series of unfortunate events that prevented me from eating all day. So driving home at 9:30pm, I got a call and invitation to try some traditional African (Nigerian?) food, and I said I could be there in five minutes.

Chris made Okra Soup with beef, catfish, and I think shrimp. It was a little slimy with the okra, and that plus the fishy taste made it a little unappetizing. But I'll try anything at least once, and I'd try this again.

Tuesday for lunch I went to Well Body with Rob and tried a pomegranate soda and a hummus wrap with purple olives. I love olives. The hummus needed a little salt and I always think some spicy sauce or peppers help everything. Well Body sells a vegetarian roast that we want to try. Talk about mystery meat.

I tried the most amazing and beautiful food Wednesday. One of my colleagues (I notice everyone at work is really into calling everyone their colleague, not that there's anything wrong with that), Shelley, brought us Bentō boxes for lunch. I had no idea what they were until she told me about them. There is an art to the way the foods are chosen and arranged. Go read the Wikipedia article and learn something. Shelley posted pictures on Facebook, which I stole, so you can see the magic yourself. Click the right image for notes.


Then we talked about India Palace and food and had a thirty second argument over whether L.A. or New York was the center of the food world. And then I asked if she would be my best friend and could we hold hands and skip through the library?

Wednesday night, Eric and I had dinner at Saigon Cafe, and I ordered some Pho. I got the spicy beef, and it was surprisingly spicy. That's one of those restaurants where I don't try to pronounce the entrée's name, I say, "I'd like a #14, please." And I think the leftovers are still in my fridge, where they went to die. Alone.