Spice Market: The Literary Experience
Something about Amanda Hesser's NYT review of Spice Market today sent blogger Eurotrash into a foaming frenzy of paragraph-by-paragraph rage:
"And in that fantasy, fat tapioca pearls loom large. They are simmered with Thai chilies, Sichuan peppercorns, cinnamon and chipotle, then paired with slivers of raw tuna in a cool coconut broth sharpened with kaffir lime. The dish is eaten with a spoon."
A spoon? A fucking spoon? Really? Wow. A real spoon? One of those stick things with a little bowl-shaped thing on the end? One of them? A "spoon"? Fuck me. Who'd have thought, eh? A spoon. I've heard it all now, I tell ya. Fascinating and informative.
"Between the wings, your chopsticks make their way to slices of mango, there for relief."
Do they? Do they really Amanda? Do my chopsticks make their way to the mango, Amanda? Of their own accord, Amanda? Or do my hands make them go there? I shall ponder this. You are thought-provoking.
