Despite being Asian, and growing up on (mostly) home-cooked food, I rarely have cravings for Japanese or Chinese cooking like so many others that I know. Perhaps it's because the majority of modern Japanese home cuisines can hardly be called Japanese at all. Gratins, hamburgers, cutlets and curries, most of the dishes are simply Japanified Western favourites. Or perhaps it's because of the years I spent in a French school with an excellent canteen. Anyways, the point is that I usually don't go out hankering for a taste of the Orient, and in any case, I'm probably doing myself a favour by avoiding the mostly unauthentic joints around town. Funny thing is though, it is only at times when I am terribly ill, moaning and groaning for help, so weak in the stomach that I can barely stand a sip of water, that I suddenly yearn for some Japanese-style congee, or a bowl of Chinese noodle soup, which is precisely what happened when I was seriously ill this week. My stomach would accept neither soup nor bread, but I somehow managed to drag myself to the Chinese supermarket where I bought a bagful of instant noodles. Me, who has for years frowned upon instant nooodles, who has not touched the stuff for at least 6-7 years, who has considered it to be on the same level as McD's, was brought down to boiling a kettle and pouring it over a bowl of powdered crap. I have to say though, it kind of saved my life. For the first time in days I was able to eat without discomfort. All the oil and msg's floating around in the soup has worked wonders. I now hail instant noodles. It really is quite scary how deeply rooted one's upbringing is.
