Picking up his clothes from the corner, Henry headed back out into the main room. There was no sign of his shirt anywhere, which was less than great, but at least now he wouldn’t beentirelynaked.
He started to pull on his underwear, idly wondering what he would say to Luna if he saw her again, and nearly jumped right out of his skin at the sound of a key turning in the lock.
Chapter 6
When things are getting you down, I guess food is always a good way to keep yourself distracted.
Especially when the food wasjust this good. Luna took another bite before she had even swallowed the previous mouthful, closing her eyes and sighing in bliss.
She knew, on an entirely rational level, that with each bite she was just burning her tongue more and more, and that she should wait even just ten seconds so that she wasn’t actively causing herself harm.
But she had always been a sucker for barbecue pork bao, and this was by far and away the best one she’d ever tasted, the hot, rich pork perfectly balanced by the light, fluffy bun, which wasjustsweet enough to be tasty rather than overpowering.
Before she knew it, she was down to the last mouthful. She forced herself to pause for a moment so she could savor it, chewing slowly, as she knew it would be the last one she could have… today, at least. It was the eternal curse of the travel writer: to be surrounded by food, and to know that you had to sample all of it, no matter how amazing or horrendous.
Everything here, of course, fell firmly into the ‘amazing’ category. She’d already stuffed herself full of more food and drink than she could remember, her notebook and camera keeping track for her, and now she was wandering about in a kind of waking food coma.
With one last wistful glance at the bao stand – it would beso easyto join the back of the line again and get another one! – she moved on down the line of stalls, idly crunching on the crispest, freshest green bean she’d ever eaten. She’d bought the Nicoise salad as a kind of salve to her conscience, telling herself she needed to eat some kind of vegetable that hadn’t been deep fried, but even the salad was so damn tasty that there was no way it could possibly be good for her.
She was sure that at some point she would start to miss her old assignments, horrible as they often were – after all, experiencing new things was part of the appeal of being a travel writer to begin with. But for the time being, she was more than happy to eat the best food she had ever eaten in her life, hands down. It was like all the world’s deliciousness had decided to congregate in one tiny mountain town. Even the water tasted better here!
The stalls spread out before her in a seemingly endless array, and the question came to her:What next?
The answer was obvious.
Dessert.
Honestly, she was so full that she was at risk of exploding, but, well, dessert was dessert, and also, she had a job to do. Her article would simplynotbe accurate without a full and complete report. What choice did she have, really?
One concept she had picked up in her travels was the Japanese idea ofbetsubara, or a second stomach for desserts when your regular stomach was full. In the spirit of cultural awareness, she was more than happy to cultivate her ownbetsubarain order to make room for some of the simply stunning treats on offer.
Even so, it was going to be difficult to choose. Just from where she was standing she could see everything from traditional Americana, such as key lime pie and apple fritters, to international fare such as alfajores, Indian sweets, and Peruvian rice pudding.
I’m going to die. I am literally going to die. I can’t leave here without trying everything.
She supposed that shewasgoing to be here all week, so she didn’t have to cram literally every single thing here into her mouth today. Still, what happened if one of them sold out all their stock before the end of the week? She’d never forgive herself. No, she had to try as much food as possible, even if it meant rolling home to the B&B later. At least it was mostly downhill!
Despite her feelings of contentedness from all the delicious food she’d eaten, Luna still couldn’t stop herself from grimacing a little when she reached into her bag and her hand brushedthatT-shirt. She was fully aware that she was eating her feelings, but that didn’t mean that she had to dwell on it.
Luna moved on to the Indian sweets stall with its insanely long line.
“What do you think, Fillmore?” she asked as she waited. “Should I get the gulab jamun, or the burfi?”
Fillmore yipped, his little tail whizzing back and forth fast enough to send him into orbit.
“You’re no help,” she muttered.
Fillmore yipped again, and Luna narrowed her eyes at him.
“Now you’re just doing it on purpose. Then again, I suppose I shouldn’t expect you to have a helpful opinion on foods that I won’t let you eat.”
The burfi would be about a hundred times easier to eat while juggling a dog, a bag, and a camera… but shedidlove gulab jamun.
What shereallyneeded was a tasting plate the size of a car with a tiny piece of everything on offer!
In the end, the gulab jamun won out. There was just something too alluring about the perfect little golden doughy balls swimming in their pool of sweet rose water syrup, with its hints of cardamom and saffron, that she couldn’t resist. Sure, she would probably end up a sticky mess, but that was a price she was willing to pay.
She held back a sigh as the line inched forward at an agonizingly slow pace. She’d seen glaciers that moved faster!
