Ode to Noodle Soup

During our first week in Thailand, Seth and I had to get used to a whole new kind of food. We had become so good at ordering food exactly how we wanted it in India, that it was frustrating to try to convey our orders in a new language (one which we didn’t know!) Through the weeks, we have gotten marginally better, but just yesterday we grabbed some boiled eggs at the night market for our bus ride lunch, and when I cracked one of them it turned out that they were fertilized eggs, and I was peeking in to see a fully developed infant chicken, steamed to perfection. I was about to lose my breakfast anyways on the windy road, and so I didn’t try it, but I thought I’d post up a poem I wrote about a week ago to illustrate the excitement of ordering into the unknown.

Noodle Pot

Spicy, sweaty, sticky, hot
Scooping from a noodle pot.
What is that? Too late! It’s bought!
The battle is lost before it’s fought.

Swimming, slimy, in my bowl,
In my brain a loud drumroll
The spoon sneaks nearer to the goal,
One chew is all…then down the hole.

Time stops. All senses are on high
Waiting, hoping not to die.
And then my tastebuds begin to fly –
It’s great! I relax and let out a sigh.

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