I walked
through the market of the village, frowning. Smiling faces regarded me
cautiously and they did their best to hawk their wares, but I wasn’t having any
of it, right now. Nothing looked wrong with the food. The potatoes, carrots,
turnips, mutton, chicken, beef, and more looked and smelled perfect. They were
better than anything I had ever tried at an upstate farmer’s market, much less
the local Korean grocery in Brooklyn. The Realms were like that.
But none of
the foods appeased the craving on my tongue. I searched in vain for bell
peppers and other chilis, peanuts, and coconuts. Last night I woke up to a
serious Thai food withdrawal, particularly a nice curry. Pad Thai would have
also sufficed, but I had a better chance of getting a curry. Noodles were
pretty much an impossibility.
I continued
wandering the food stalls, even coming to the exotic spice merchant. I bought
some black pepper and anything else he described as being hot, but I had my
doubts. And while pepper might up the heat, there was no way to replicate the
fruitiness of the bell peppers and jalapenos.
I went to
the tavern and indulged in a shepherd’s pie, which was good, but as bland as
paste. I wanted pepper, spice, and exotic aromas crashing into my nose and
throat in a symphony of flavor. I wanted panang curry, and yellow curry, and
red curry, and mussaman, and Pad Thai.
I had
another spoonful of beef, potato, and carrot in a consistency too similar to
baby food.