Jamison’s Misadventures In Asia

Monday morning. I wake up late, body peppered in pink spots, evidence from a weekend of fun with pellet guns. I make my way to ‘work’, stopping at the post office to find my box jammed with a week’s worth of mail. The most intriguing item is a large envelope from my friend Andi. Feeling the unopened package leads me to believe that it contains magazines, or a shirt, or magazines wrapped in a shirt.

In actuality, I have no idea what awaits inside this envelope, so when I open it to discover a package of tortillas, my surprise is not so much the offspring of anticipation as it is a sibling to my bewilderment. When one opens an envelope, regardless of size, it is not common to find tortillas, let alone dehydrated refried beans, but I am not complaining—Mexican food is hard to come by in rural Thailand.

I place the envelope in my backpack and ponder my newfound quesadilla and burrito eating potential. ‘I’ll save that for a rainy day,’ I think to myself.

Monday evening. I sit in the kitchen talking with Pee Mayuree, catching up on my week of travel. I share details of my previous week’s activities; she shares fruit. Well into our conversation, she walks out of the room and returns with a small bowl of sliced green fruit, possibly melon. She asks, ‘Do you know? A-woke-ah-doe?’ Ignoring her inquiry, I pick up the fruit and am surprised by its temperature—it is frozen. I place the mysterious though familiar-looking food in my mouth, and despite its odd, frozen texture, I recognize its flavor immediately. Avocado.

‘Where did you buy this?’

‘I buy it in Mae Sai.’

‘I’ve never seen avocado in Thailand’

‘It come from China.’

Avocado.

Guacamole.

Tortillas.

Beans.

BURRITOS.

Serendipity has reared her head, and who am I to not listen when she sings the Song of Burritos. Schedules are rearranged. Plans are made. Ingredients are corralled.

Tuesday evening. I arrive at Pee Mayuree’s house, wielding various foodstuffs. I go to work in the kitchen as her family finishes their dinner. Mayuree helps me cook. Water is boiled, tomatoes are diced, avocadoes mashed. Before long, we stand before an impressive spread:

Flour Tortillas

Refried Beans

Spanish Rice

Pad Grapow Gai (a spicy Thai chicken dish)

Guacamole

Salsa

Hot Sauce

Pee looks on in wonder as I construct the First Burrito. Various family members mill about with distanced curiosity. I place the culinary amalgamation in front of her, and she begins. Her face and words express something beyond satisfaction. I join in the eating and am pleased as well. For the rest of the family, curiosity betters satiation, and before long, several members are huddled over their own plates, enjoying their First Burritos.

At meal’s end, there is nothing remaining, save a bit of unused beans. Burrito Night is a cultural and culinary success, introducing the Thai folk to an itch that will rarely be scratched here in Thailand. But for one evening, we sit around the table, our contented smiles interrupted only by the occasional grimace when one shifts in his chair and feels gluttonous guilt as Burrito churns inside his belly.

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