Rice

After a whole morning of exertion (yes, waiting in line is kind of an exertion - if you have to do it with two kids, not to say being submerged into a flood of strong people), we lunched in a small restaurant of the theme park.

We ordered a pizza, some spaghetti, and a plate of fried rice. Well, you could imagine the quality if a restaurant could serve all of them. But, no. I could not imagine - at least for that very last item. As soon as a few grains of it rested on my taste bud, I told Vivian with a bitter smile, "This got to be one of the three specimens of fried rice that have the most horrible taste in my life..."

And I am both right and wrong. On careful reflection, the outstanding dish that I was having should be the first runner up in the competition. (The champion being the legendary experience I had with our previous hospital canteen - shortly before its contract expired.)

But I am wrong. The taste was not horrible- it has no taste at all.

I was almost impulsive enough to play TK, the previous professor of medicine from the other side of the harbour, hold the collar of the chef, and say with a wicked smile, "Soy sauce doesn't cost much, does it?"