Dear Schwarma/Doner Kebab,
It’s been a while since we’ve been together. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Every time I walk by a giant metal skewer, strung with meat, you still make my head still turn. Last time I saw you I was in Ximending, Taipei’s trendy teen shopping area. I wanted you but I had eaten already. Sometimes I think about making the trip there especially for you.
Long distance relationships are never easy. I don’t think of myself as unfaithful but here in Taipei I just can’t help myself from looking around. It’s happened a few times when I was drunk but I’m finally ready to admit it to you and myself.
There’s this stall at the entry to the Shida night market, our neighbourhood’s communal kitchen and pantry. You grab a plastic basket, pair of tongs and start grabbing. There are similar stands further inside the market but lack the selection that this one has. I can choose from shiitake mushrooms, king oyster mushrooms, entire green peppers, sweet potato wedges, sausages, octopus tentacles, fish balls, tofu, tiny fish filled with eggs, cauliflower, chicken cutlet, onion rings, fries, hash browns, green beans and rice wrapped in seaweed. I select my favourites and hand them over to the lady who chops up the larger pieces, separates them according to cooking time and accesses their worth. She assigns my basket a number, tosses in a few strands of leafy greens for flavour and sends it off to meet its deep-fried fate. (And here I thought the Dutch loved deep-frying.)
After the frying process, the basket’s contents is emptied into a bowl where I have white pepper, chili powder and minced garlic added. It’s then flipped around in the bowl skillfully to ensure even distribution. From there my snacks are packaged into a tiny paper bag via a large metal funnel. A few skewers are shoved in and the paper is thoughtfully placed into a custom-sized plastic bag to keep it from burning my hands. I’m not trying to make you jealous but it’s really, really hot.
It’s not that I’ve found a replacement for my new favourite drunken food. To be honest, with you, I always feel better the morning after. Waking up after my rendez-vous with this stall, I always feel slightly guilty (and garlicky.) Still I think we’re going to have to take a break this summer. I’m young and I need to experiment, you know? But you have, and will always have, a special place in my heart.
Love,
Vicky
