So I can’t cook. Let’s not sugar coat it (hee hee), I just really can’t at all. Not even in a ‘I can make a few basic dishes’ way because I can’t, really, not at all. I have a shelf of beautiful recipe books, some of them not even written by Jamie Oliver, two fairly decent frying pans and a gorgeous cheese grater but no amount of pretty kitchen dressing can hide the fact that Jacqui and Ryan borrowed all of my knives and forks for a dinner party and I didn’t realise they were gone for two weeks. It’s that bad.
Terrible culinary skills aside, eating is another story. And eating in another country is another another story. At home, wasabi is risqué, but out there in the world my tongue becomes like Bear Grilles, ready for anything. And so, to Thailand where the only Western food we ate was a one time Burger King stop at two in the morning. The rest of the time our stomachs were filled with sticky rice and green noodles and eel and curry, one cricket and duck and prawns, oh sweet Macgyver, the prawns.
Here is some of it in pictures: