That's right, tomorrow takes us far far away, and a day in Brooklyn, a few in New Hampshire, a few in Lancaster, then the long haul southward with bags of spices, strange concoctions, rolled Iranian carpets decorated with roses, silk batik dragons, and all the trappings of an opium-inspired orientalist's daydream (not that anyone in this century would claim to be an orientalist, aside from Bernard Lewis, but there is a certain undeniable romance to it. But I digress). Tonight we're going out to Original Sin at Holland Village, a vegetarian-Mediterranean restaurant that I've been longing to try. It will be my last meal in Singapore, so there are certain expectations that if not met, and met with gusto, will disappoint sorely. Meals are really a combination of much more than good food and good drink, but of company and context as well. Virginia Woolf said a few things about dining that I have always appreciated, and have recognized in my best meals. In fact, the only thing I remember from reading A Room of One's Own in high school are the moments when she is seated at a table with friends. So she wrote, "We have proved, sitting eating, sitting talking, that we can add to the treasury of moments." While that seems cheesy in the way only 19th century English writers can acheive, I believe it. Perhaps even better is, "One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, is one has not dined well." I'm hoping that tonight, the meal with my family lasts for two hours for all the right reasons.
On an entirely different note, this article in the New York Times is worth drawing from.