One cloth to rule them all

Fried noodles

I can’t quite speak for myself when it comes to personal hygiene, I hardly ever wash my face & a jump in and out of the shower routinely takes me less than five minutes. Q-tips? Once in a while. Body scrubs, sponges & what not? How about hardly ever … if ever. But when it comes to personal space & living environment I like to maintain a cleanliness that is almost always squeaky clean, if not clinic-like and smelling like one.

Not being obsessive compulsive, but having things all neat, clean, orderly stacked up and as perfectly aligned as can be logically done at all times creates an orderliness that begets a chaos of the mind constantly. Yes it does. One tries to bring order, hygiene & ‘liveability’ to a level that brings peace and acceptance by oneself merely to incite more chaos as one constantly searches and seeks any minuscule possibility that somewhere, something is out of whack. But of course, the whack, indeed it is a huge twit of a whack, is in the house.

I love food. I love learning about food. I also love talking with people who make food so great. There are always stories to hear, lessons to learn, secrets to discover and surprises to uncover. I love food.

I love watching people cooking. How they work in the ingredients, control the fires, their deft hands cleverly waltzing around a wok, eyes watching, hands dancing, food cooking.

I love food. I love the experience of waiting for it, eating it and watching it as if I was watching some program on television, some program such as ‘This is your life!’. How it all started from a nondescript plastic bag of yellow noodles. How the chef reaches into the bag and pulls out a handful of them noodles. Throws them into a wok, cooks them and serves them on a plate.

How the helper cleans the plate for the noodles to be served on. Mindlessly like a robot wiping dry a stack of washed plates. How the cloth changes hands and wipes down the table the chef is working on. And again how that same piece of cloth ends up wiping the sweat off his forehead, and then his neck for good measure. I see it now, those plates with leftover noodles from a previous customer, being thrown into a huge pail of running water. Washed and then dried, yet again with that very same piece of cloth wrung dry. And later used to wipe the washing pail; inside, outside & underneath it all.

I love food. I have already finished my plate.

Promising myself I will never return there again, to the place where it has always been that one cloth. One Cloth to rule them all.

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