Kimchee Girl Strikes Again
It was stir-fried tofu with kimchee, garlic, and ginger for dinner last night, and I have to wonder: what must my neighbors think?
I’m sure it can’t be too olfactorarily (shut up, it’s a word) pleasing. I know as I come home or go out, I sometimes wonder what the heck my neighbors are up to. Sometimes it’s obvious: ah, my across the hall neighbors are having spaghetti tonight. Or troubling: gee, I hope my other across the hall neighbor is okay because I haven’t seen him in a few weeks and there’s been a rotting, mildewy smell hovering around the stairwell for a while now (hopefully it’s just the giant ugly wreath on the 3rd floor that’s still up).
Sounds travel freely as well. For instance I’m sure my upstairs neighbor’s apartment doubles as the waiting room for expectant fathers in 1955 what with all the pacing back and forth, and that all their shoes are full of cement. And my next door neighbor must have gotten a new girlfriend because suddenly I’m hearing loud and vigorous sex over and over and over (either that or my neighbor has improved his technique – way to go, Jim!).
I do love my apartment though. It’s the best one I’ve had so far, better than the one in Prospect Heights where my roommate came and went at all hours and clogged the shower drain with her multitudinous hair, and better than the one on the Upper West Side that was above a Chinese restaurant, which made all of my possessions smell like chicken fried rice. This is the first apartment that’s all my own, as well as lov-e-ly decorated, if I do say so myself.
And I’ll probably never stop cooking with kimchee (despite the fact that afterwards, my apartment smells like the kitchen of that Chinese restaurant I used to live over). I consider it the root of miracles, the food of gods, able to turn any batch of leftovers into a spicy and flavorful meal (except for maybe chocolate cake). If I were a superhero, I’d definitely be Kimchee Girl, able to singe your senses with one sweep of her spatula, with one toss of her trusty wok. Her only match is Vietnamese Fish Paste woman, she of the deadly red squirt. Looks like I’ll just have to live with the smell (hm, all of that just came off as a bit dirty).
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This sort of reminds me of when I had a roommate who went on and on about how “interesting and exotic” it was that I had food packages with Chinese characters on them. I always wanted to respond “that’s what I think about the ring of hair you leave around the tub!”
I love kimchee, by the way.