PERHAPS this doesn’t come as a shocker to anyone who’s been stopping by for awhile, but I would like to, for once at least as public record, to officially confess.

Before we shake hands, break breads and plan our next travelling itinerary together, it’s best that you know this about me…  That to a point of being almost overbearing, I have an unhealthy, perverted… RAPACIOUS fixation on anything and everything that falls under the category of – street foods.

You, too! I heard?  No.  No, unfortunately I’m afraid, not like this.

I’m talking about an uncurbed obsession that overwrites all hygienic senses.  It could lead to an unpleasant behaviours that I’m dangerously comfortable with, that I would look right at your fearful eyes with unaccompanied excitement, drag you if I must, to sit down on a randomly scouted location where flies are feasting on bodies of other flies, and jitter over a bowl of something that I just ordered purely through hand-signals, as looooong as it looks tasty.  Then as if completely clueless, I’d turn and ask you with concealed hostility… Is there something wrong with your food?  

At this point, you should know that you’re stuck with a madwoman who has no intention to eat anything under a proper roof.  Ask Jason, and his collaterally-damaged digestive system has got some tearful stories to tell.  I’m not proud… I’m not proud…

OK fine, I am.