I’m an alien. I’m a legal alien.
I’m a New Mexican in Singapore.
What a whirlwind visit I’ve had here in Southeast Asia.
I think I’ve lived a year in a week and on Sunday, my last day in residence, I have a lot of thoughts going through my mind.
I have had some of the best food of my life. I have sweated more than I thought my pores were capable of. I’ve felt more at home than anywhere I’ve visited. I’ve felt more alien than anywhere I’ve ever visited.
I’m not sure where to even begin speaking about it all and rest assured over the next weeks and months it will slowly come through my writing. Or, perhaps, even years. My mind and Muse need to ruminate over it all.
But let’s get down to basics.
After eight days and twelve thousand miles away from home, I need some Mexican food.
On Friday as I visited with my ex-pat friend now living in Bali, we agreed that Mexican is just one thing you don’t get here. You can find just about everything else, but Mexican is a no.
While shopping the enormous Mustafa Market in the Little India district of Singapore (it truly is a store where you can find anything), I happened to stumble across this:
While Old El Paso is my least favorite brand, it’s at least something, right? Salsa! Here! Yes!
Only.
No.
Turn over the jar and you see this:
Made in Spain? For General Mills Switzerland?
Remember that old Pace commercial: “New York City!?! Get a rope…”
Yeah. Times a thousand.
I shan’t be sampling the Spain/Swiss salsa. I’ll simply have to enjoy another day of chili crab, delicious laksa, chicken rice and everything else wonderful here and then next week I’ll see about getting my chile meter back up to green.
