Ever heard of sambal oelek?
To my mind, it was only about a year ago that I ran out of chili paste, an ingredient I use exclusively when making Thai food. I went to the Asian grocery, but they didn't have the Thai brand I normally buy. Instead, I came home with a jar of sambal oelek. How different could two chili pastes possibly be?
Today I was preparing to make Thai fried rice. I pulled the fish sauce, oyster sauce, soy sauce, rice vinegar, rice oil, and sambal oelek out of the refrigerator and lined them up on the counter. Something about the chili paste struck me as odd. It was slightly the wrong color. More of a gangrene hue.
I checked the expiration date.
February 2021.
Am I my mother-in-law? What in the world is going on here? Didn't I just buy this jar last year? Don't I feed my family Thai food once a week? Have I been slowly poisoning us all with fermented chilies for five consecutive years?
As it happens, the answers to these questions do not align particularly well with my perception of reality. Apparently, I haven't been paying any attention to the sambal oelek. And, as their father reminded me, I haven't actually been putting chili paste in the Thai food since the children started eating it (which would have been about five or six years ago).
Hadn't we moved since then? Well.
Into the trash it went. Tomorrow I'll have to make another trip to the Asian grocery and hope they have something suitable. With my luck, the German Mensch will be there.
Oh? Haven't I told you about the German Mensch?
I've been accosted by this man so regularly that it's becoming a source of considerable stress, resulting in extra vigilance on my part.
It all started a few weeks ago.
I had gone to get my hair cut on the north side of town, where all the cool kids live. The salon is one of those rather expensive establishments that smells of sandalwood and neroli, with exposed brick, polished concrete floors, enormous mirrors, and enough strategically placed houseplants that you just know everyone working on the premises has strong opinions about oat milk.
I've only been twice. My usual hairdresser is on maternity leave, and although I wish her and the baby every happiness, I am beginning to feel that she has been away quite long enough.
For one thing, my temporary hairdresser is rather rough with her hands. For another, she seems to regard my head as a personal creative project, and my own opinions about what should happen to it as largely advisory.
While I was having my hair shampooed, she leaned over and announced, quite casually, "You know, we do Botox downstairs."
Subtle.
I'm aware that I've been steadily developing fine lines under the stress in which I marinate, but I would have appreciated a more traditional Midwestern approach to the subject. Perhaps a concerned glance at my forehead, followed by an unrelated observation about the weather.
Instead, a few minutes later, she stopped massaging my scalp, poked me directly between the eyes, and said, "Unfurrow your brow, or I'm going to make you go downstairs!"
An hour later, I emerged onto the sidewalk $150 lighter, with hair two full inches shorter, and in possession of something called "face-framing fringe," which I hadn't requested.
I'm too old to be incapable of speaking up for myself in these situations, but this woman operates with such confidence that by the time I realize a decision has been made, she's already halfway through executing it.
Oh well. Hair grows.
Anyway, I digress.
Where were we?
Ah, yes. The German Mensch.
I stepped outside and headed down the block to pick up lunch. Stationed directly outside the sandwich shop was a strikingly tall blond man wearing a button-down shirt, khakis, and thick glasses.
My first thought was that the Jehovah's Witnesses had expanded their territory. They ordinarily maintain a reliable presence at the end of the bridge a few blocks away, and I wondered what had prompted this sudden advance into the commercial district.
I was about to find out.
GM: Hallo, madam! What a lovely outfit you are wearing today!
M: Thanks.
GM: Ja! It is very stylish. You must be young to be so stylish. How old are you?
M: Excuse me?
GM: Well, I am twenty-eight. You cannot be any older than me!
M: I'm sorry, what do you need?
GM: Oh! I was just saying how nice your outfit is!
M: Yes, I understand. Thank you. I'm going to go inside now.
GM: Ah, yes, of course! But madam, before I let you go, I must tell you something.
M: Okay.
He glanced down at a sheet of paper in his hand.
GM: Hi there! Do you love our national parks?
M: Um...
My mind flashed quickly to Utah.
M: Yes?
GM: We're out here today with the National Park Foundation, raising awareness about protecting America's national parks and making sure future generations can enjoy them. Have you had a chance to visit any national parks? Let them answer.
The last three words were plainly an instruction printed on the script, intended to be obeyed rather than delivered aloud.
Nevertheless, I answered.
M: Um... the Grand Canyon, and—
GM: That's wonderful! The National Park Foundation is the official nonprofit partner of the National Park Service. We help support conservation, wildlife protection, and programs that connect more people with these incredible places. Would you have a quick minute?
M: I'm so sorry, I really don't. I just need to get my sandwich and get back to work. If it's money you're after, could you give me a QR code? I'd be happy to donate that way.
GM: Oh, I am not trying to take your money, madam! I am only trying to raise awareness today. Quick question! Did you know we're losing roughly ten million hectares of forest around the world every single year? That's an area about the size of Iceland! And we're not just talking about trees. We're talking about wildlife habitats, clean air, clean water, and entire ecosystems disappearing, and—
M: Thank you so much for telling me. I really do have to go now, but I appreciate the information!
With as much politeness as I could muster, I stepped around him, ducked into the sandwich shop, retrieved my lunch from the pickup counter, and slipped out through the side door.
I took the long way back to the office.
The following weekend, I was preparing for a party at the house.
It was getting down to the final hours, and I realized I still needed a few things. Ice, extra candy for the piñata, and various other necessities that only reveal themselves once you're already behind schedule.
I was particularly excited about the piñata.
I'd rigged it up over the garage rafters, suspended from a stick that would allow me to take evasive action whenever someone attempted a swing. I had even practiced my maneuvers and reinforced the underside of the unfortunate papier-mâché humanoid with duct tape to make it more difficult to dislodge.
I was determined that nobody was getting that candy without a fight. But before I could finish my engineering masterpiece, I needed one more bag of candy.
I jumped into the car and headed for the grocery store nearest the house, rather than my usual one. I knew I'd pay a little more, but time was of the essence. I parked near the east entrance and jogged toward the doors.
GM: Hallo, madam! What a lovely outfit you are wearing today!
M: Thanks.
Wait.
Are you kidding me?
GM: Ja! It is very stylish. You must be young to be so stylish. How old are you?
I didn't even give him time to tell me he was twenty-eight before I dashed into the store.
What are the odds?!
I'm in an entirely different town, for crying out loud.
Then, last weekend was Halloween. I really was hoping to manifest a bit, so I invited the whole neighborhood over as a means to "throw a party" on the off chance a certain someone might come.
Unfortunately, I discovered that our entire marshmallow inventory consisted of half a bag of stale balls of uncertain vintage. Given the possibility that the whole neighborhood might actually show up for the impromptu bonfire, this seemed a poor foundation on which to build a festive evening.
So I hopped over to a little retail store nearby for a fresh bag of Jet-Puffed.
GM: Hallo.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Three times? Three different locations? Surely there are other people in the city who care about national parks. Why am I apparently the only one available for questioning?
Well, tomorrow I have to go shopping for sambal oelek, and if recent history is any indication, he'll be waiting outside the Asian grocery with a fresh script and another compliment about my outfit.
Perhaps I ought to come prepared with a few fast facts of my own. Did you know that a sudden flash flood can send a wall of water rushing through a slot canyon even when the sky directly overhead is perfectly blue? The rain may be falling miles away.
Miles away or not. Even above the rain clouds, there’s always a Ray of light.