Never Trust Foreign Food

I’ve been here a month now, eating amazing food in all sorts of places. Tiny roadside food cart? Check. Buffet-style food people were swatting flies off of? Check. Little mom and pop restaurant? Check. Random beach vendor? Check.

Today, I needed a pair of decent board shorts, so I headed to the mall. I was going to give it a miss, but then I realized that it’s kind of a thing here, and it’d be pretty culturally stupid of me to dismiss it because I don’t care for American malls. So I went.

While walking the four stories (and finding decent local board shorts for a good price!), I got hungry. So I went to the food court, ablaze with Burger King and Swanson’s and Donut King logos. One upscale-looking place offered pizza. I’ve been living on the cheap, and was curious, so I decided to splurge - a margherita pizza and an iced coffee.

The coffee ended up being chocolate milk. The pizza was an affront to every living Italian and all their descendants. It was easily the worst meal I’ve eaten here, taste-wise.

But then comes the kicker. Yep, that’s an angry, angry, angry stomach. It stuck around for two days. What calmed it down? Ridiculously spicy curry and Tom Yum soup.

The moral: wherever you are, just stick to what the locals eat.