The Girl Who Ate Everything

In October of 2011, I visited Taipei—the city where my parents went to college and where my dad and his parents currently live—for the first time in over a decade, accompanied by one of my best friends, Lee Anne, whose maternal grandparents live in Taipei. I'm guessing I wrote this post near the end of 2011, but it fell by the wayside because my words reach peak coherence when they're allowed to ferment for one and a half years JUST KIDDING I am really slow. So I'm writing about the trip now, long after my memories of the trip have mostly fizzled into question marks, because I won't setting for "giving up"—but I will settle for "barely trying." Well there, here we go.

A road in Taipei.

I couldn't get it out of my head. The question I asked myself shortly after stepping onto the streets of downtown Taipei. What's that smell? Not a lip-curling, is-that-the-stench-of-decay-or-did-someone-fart smell, but a mild, omnipresent scent that says, "You're definitely in Taipei."

And thus I became unnaturally flush with excitement* when one night out of the blue Lee Anne said, "There's a distinct smell here." Oh, Lee Anne [clutches chest]—you totally get me. In addition to "BFF" you have earned the badge of "SMELL PARTNER 4 LYFE." And you're really smart, so I bet you know what the smell is.

* I mean, I'm easily excited, but it's usually at the hands of a voluminous ice cream sundae or a puppy acting helpless in a totally nonthreatening situation and thus looking immeasurably cute, not by smells.

"Oh my god, yes! The smell! There's a smell! You know the smell! ...What is this smell?"

"I think it's a mix of food and exhaust," Lee Anne started. "With some incense." Keep going. "And a bit of air freshener." Keeeep going. "And...toilet?" I nodded. It's not a scent I'd apply to my skin, but If I could bottle up Taipei street air and take it home for the occasional closed-eyed whiff, I would. It would transport me back to Taipei in a way nothing else can.

Rice, pork, and slaw. Together in harmony.

I rarely leave my desk at work unless I want to refill my water glass, eat a snack, or pee. But recently, I had an errand to run that would take me beyond the comforts of the 15-foot radius around my desk; I had to haul myself to Union Square. (Not much of a haul from my office in Chinatown, but it required putting on shoes, so...yeah. Haul.)

"You should head to Photo Tech now so you can get there before it closes," said the part of my brain that dictates responsible actions, like maintaining a well stocked supply of toilet paper, washing my sheets before—not after—they start to smell funny, and, in this case, getting my lens repaired. (A few weeks ago the zoom ring broke, out of the blue. I couldn't tell how bad the damage was at first, until I felt something being crunched under the ring as I twisted it, bringing me to the diagnosis of, "Oh, that sounds bad.")

And then, another voice butted in, shrill and uninhibited. "OMG IF YOU'RE GOING TO UNION SQUARE YOU CAN GET PULLED PORK FROM TABOONETTE YOU WANNIT UUGHGUHGG [INSERT GURGLY SOUND OF AMPLIFYING GLUTTONY]." That came from the far more dominant part of my brain that thinks about gratification and how to get it, preferably now.

What's great about Taboonette's pulled pork rice plate ($10)? Just about everything. I'll break it down for ya.