Tonight, I was in mood to treat myself with the finest food money can buy in the immediate vicinity of my house. I walked carefully (so as not to slip on the ice) on a street that was solely lit by the stores’ gas lights until I reached a wooden cart selling the local delicacy: french fries, a hardboiled egg and halal sausage wrapped in a naan sandwich and flavored with curry powder ($0.2).
One man, dressed in rwipped clothes was busy collecting fries by sweeping the greasy counter with his hand. He wrapped a piece of naan around the fries and others ingredients (the whole thing looked somewhat like a burrito), then he wrapped a strip of old newspaper around it and hand it over to me.
While he was doing that, his partner – who was infinitely amused at the fact that I wanted to buy something from them - was deep frying fries in a dark brown bubbly mixture, only one foot above the pavement that carried all the remains of a market day.
I dare say: if we were in the
For lunch, I eat at my work’s cantina everyday. While the food there is not very good, I love this type of food and the way of eating it: stews with lamb, chicken and/or chickpeas, eaten with naan bread (they tear a piece of naan, then use to grab food off the plate). Today, the waiter brought me a spoon and a fork because I was a foreigner. I was a little offended, but I reminded myself he was just trying to be nice.