The Far Flung Foodie

π = r^dinner

Such a happy little pi

π = r²
No, π≠r². Pie are ROUND. Brownies are square.
Oh, I slay me.

I am, admittedly, a snob. I’m the girl turning up her nose at The Olive Garden, blowing the budget on balsamico, gabbing with fellow foodies about the perfect pear tatin or the little caseficio in Campagna where mozzarella di bufala first melted in my mouth.

The Omnivore’s Hundred

I got a 90.

Here’s an interesting quiz from the British food blog Very Good Taste. You’re supposed to:

The Ugly Dumpling

This blog, simply, is about food. About procuring and preparing and consuming, whether at a food stall in a crowded soi in Bangkok, Thailand, (where I was until a few months ago) or in a quiet kitchen in Boulder, Colorado (where I am now).

If it’s Monday, this must be yellow

Another Monday morning, another sea of yellow (mostly polo) shirts. When I first moved here, close to two-thirds of the Thais I’d see on Mondays would be wearing these shirts to honor His Majesty The King Rama IX Bhumipol Adulyadej The Great. (Yellow is the color of Monday, and HMTKRIXBATG was born on a Monday.)

Coup, schmoo

BBC NEWS | Asia-Pacific | ‘Coup’ sparks Thailand emergency

The Big Mango Becomes Cyn City

I fought the Naw and the Naw Won

To Wong Diana, Thanks For Everything, Love Wander Woman

Not to be too Blanche DuBois, but this trip has been all about the kindness of strangers. Yesterday morning I bought a buck’s worth of strawberries and mulberries, and offered them around on the bus from Lijiang. Talk about your dividends: When we got to Tiger Leaping Gorge, a few of the students on trekking holiday spent half an hour bargaining with a driver so that I could see the gorge for a few hours. “How would you like it if you went to America and someone cheated you?” a tall girl howled. “You charge a fair price.”

Going to Graceland

Candy and I catch the 9:00 a.m. train to Dali. A reserved young couple is opposite us on the bench, and for the first hour or so they don’t speak. Then the Sock Man shows up. He is wearing an official-looking (to me) blue shirt and pants. His voice is loud and authoritative. He could have taken me to prison, and I’d have followed meekly. “Does he want to see my passport?”