Stereotyping

"I said do you speak my language?
He just smiled and gave me a Vegemite sandwich.
I said oh, you're from Down Under."
- Men At Work, 'Down Under'

OK, so I've been told of my food rights and that I'm well within them to expect curry devil and feng at an Eurasian do.

So food stereotyping is good stereotyping? Well, thank goodness it's permissible then because when I go to an Eurasian Christmas, I look forward to the devil and feng. I look forward to Hari Raya because the neighbours make some solid rendang. And at Chinese New Year, my mouth waters for bak kwa, pineapple tarts and love letters. Everything is defined by food. Oh dear, I sound like such a glut.

It's got to the point where bak kwa *is* Chinese New Year. You can get bak kwa all year round, but it just doesn't taste as good as it does during Chinese New Year even though you know in your head that it really is the same thing, from the same shop, prepared to the same recipe.

Just like how Vegemite sandwiches (yes, I actually do like the stuff) tastes blah here but like heaven on a diveboat off Cairns. I suppose it's food association.

It's funny how a bite of something that you don't normally eat takes you instantly back to another time, another place. Branston pickle on cheese sandwiches takes me back to lunches at the university chaplaincy. And when I'm away from Singapore, chicken rice instantly takes me back.

More food memories. I can still taste that potato soup full of fresh herbs from that shop between Tahoe and Sausalito -- which L doubts we'll ever find again when we go back because we had no idea where it is, we were driving and stopped where we felt like it.

Outside of Singapore, different foods take on a sort of gastronomic welcome that says, hey, you're here, now have a bit of what we're eating. And it's good, eh? Although, context is all. I shudder at chip butties now but I'd eat one happily in Blighty. Same with spam wusubis in Hawaii.

I'm getting nibblish...