5 + 15 points
Saucy Tales by Bet Monty
August 22nd, 2010 9:48 PM
So, there I was: the fixings for a great side dish all laid out.
That's when I realized; this sauce wasn't at its best.
In fact, it hadn't been at its best in almost 5 months! "Great Scott!" I thought, "What horrors must lurk beneath that lid!" but that's when my sister offered an interesting thought.
"It's just not at its best. Who's to say it's at worst? It's probably fine." I figured I'd file that thought away for some inspection later, but for now I still had this old sauce that seemed risky to use. Though, you know, as I looked at the label I began to wonder how long sauces and the like would have lasted back in the days when junks shipped Asian marinade/glaze to the.. err... Judaic world?
Wait a minute. What the heck kind of sauce is this, anyway? "Soy Vay?!" Really? Well, I know from experience that it's quite delectable and it's not like I have an objection, but how odd. I mean, what set of circumstances could have created this sauce? As the thought occurred to me, the story unfolded in my imagination:
It was 1841, the height of the First Opium War, intrepid captain Michael Mendoza stands at the prow of the Folly, carefully scanning the horizon through his spyglass. He's nervous, and with good reason. This close to the port he's sure to suffer the fury of the harbor's cannons, but he has no choice. The old Sephardi had taken on British colors and a letter of marque from the governor for one reason and one reason only. That reason, if all went well, would be aboard the Folly tonight.
That reason, of course, was his blushing bride to be. The daughter of a cook, Chángpíng never expected that her life would take her across the seas, far from the home and restaurant her family had built over generations, but here she was. As the waves slowly rock the little barge that brings her ever closer to her love and future husband, she clutches her treasure to her bosom: the family recipes, each neatly copied in her flowery, expressive calligraphy. With these recipes she can make her future anywhere her husband will take her. She knows she shouldn't fear the future, but the future is so uncertain, so unknown.
What life will the pair have together? What wonders will their love, a fusion of east and west -- and even Middle East -- will produce; what legacy will the pair leave behind?
Who knows, in the future, perhaps their chance meetings will inspire someone else to take the same risks; to throw away what they're comfortable and safe with for the chance at the impossibly rare prize: love itself.
Or... perhaps they'll pass the time wondering at such a story when they make some seriously kick ass french-fries to go with lunch.
Either way, the world benefits, right?
Of course, this is just a salicious tale; if you want to know the real story, you'll have to ask them yourselves.
That's when I realized; this sauce wasn't at its best.
In fact, it hadn't been at its best in almost 5 months! "Great Scott!" I thought, "What horrors must lurk beneath that lid!" but that's when my sister offered an interesting thought.
"It's just not at its best. Who's to say it's at worst? It's probably fine." I figured I'd file that thought away for some inspection later, but for now I still had this old sauce that seemed risky to use. Though, you know, as I looked at the label I began to wonder how long sauces and the like would have lasted back in the days when junks shipped Asian marinade/glaze to the.. err... Judaic world?
Wait a minute. What the heck kind of sauce is this, anyway? "Soy Vay?!" Really? Well, I know from experience that it's quite delectable and it's not like I have an objection, but how odd. I mean, what set of circumstances could have created this sauce? As the thought occurred to me, the story unfolded in my imagination:
It was 1841, the height of the First Opium War, intrepid captain Michael Mendoza stands at the prow of the Folly, carefully scanning the horizon through his spyglass. He's nervous, and with good reason. This close to the port he's sure to suffer the fury of the harbor's cannons, but he has no choice. The old Sephardi had taken on British colors and a letter of marque from the governor for one reason and one reason only. That reason, if all went well, would be aboard the Folly tonight.
That reason, of course, was his blushing bride to be. The daughter of a cook, Chángpíng never expected that her life would take her across the seas, far from the home and restaurant her family had built over generations, but here she was. As the waves slowly rock the little barge that brings her ever closer to her love and future husband, she clutches her treasure to her bosom: the family recipes, each neatly copied in her flowery, expressive calligraphy. With these recipes she can make her future anywhere her husband will take her. She knows she shouldn't fear the future, but the future is so uncertain, so unknown.
What life will the pair have together? What wonders will their love, a fusion of east and west -- and even Middle East -- will produce; what legacy will the pair leave behind?
Who knows, in the future, perhaps their chance meetings will inspire someone else to take the same risks; to throw away what they're comfortable and safe with for the chance at the impossibly rare prize: love itself.
Or... perhaps they'll pass the time wondering at such a story when they make some seriously kick ass french-fries to go with lunch.
Either way, the world benefits, right?
Of course, this is just a salicious tale; if you want to know the real story, you'll have to ask them yourselves.
