eat, monkey

My standards for western food have already fallen.

My only complaint about eating at KFC last night was that it was overpriced. At 20 yuan, you should have hostesses in traditional-looking Chinese dresses and the chef (wearing his puffy hat) should slice the meat at your table.

I've also eaten some dreadfully questionable ice cream. I used to turn up my nose at Cold Stone, but now I would welcome one. I can't really hang with Chinese desserts, they utilize too much bean paste. So cheap, crappy ice cream has become something of a necessity.

Claire says we are going to feel embarassed about coming back from a developing country, fatter than ever.

I've got further to fall still. There is a hotel here that serves something that resembles pizza, hamburgers and spaghetti. The pizza might have corn and cucumbers on it unless you are careful. The burgers are wrong in a way that I can't quite put my finger on, and I'm afraid of trying the spaghetti. Claire and I find it rather ill, but to Shelley and Chris (who have lived abroad for much, much longer) it is warming comforting warmth and comfort.

I understand where they are coming from. Eating really spicy, greasy (though usually tasty) Chinese food for nine meals in a row can feel exhausting. Even one familiar (though ill-prepared) dish can seem refreshong.