Feasting On The Streets

As I reached the square by the river I was immediately encapsulated by scene. Traditional buildings beamed with a rustic beauty, decrepit in a meaningful way. Along the riverbank quaint, colourful boats floated without a care in the world, illuminating the murky river. I trod slowly along the narrow, cobbled streets which bustled with energy, as feet and bicycles hustled in every direction. But it was hose-pipe ban hot. The type of hot that saps the energy from your legs and dries up every speck of moisture in your mouth. Beyond every other sense and desire a smell took hold of me in an almost hypnotic grip. It eclipsed every everything else around me. The need to explore further disappeared. I followed my nose. The smell was potent, charred meat with a sweet and spicy kick. I could taste the aroma and instantly felt the moisture returning to my mouth. In the centre of the square a squat, balding man with no teeth, leaned lazily on a pillar next to his grill. The smell came from here, his cauldron of smoldering delight. Catching my eye, he knew immediately he had me. He didn't have to ask. I was having whatever that smell was.
Almost in a trace I strode eagerly toward a tiny table nestled by a wall overlooking the river. Slumping down on to a tiny blue stool, I was immediately berated by a giggling little girl who sat cheekily atop the wall . How ridiculous I must have looked in her eyes. This gangling westerner, dripping with sweat and huffing like a dehydrated hippo, now sat with his knees under his chin, on a stool clearly not designed for a man of his size. A lady appeared now, taller and wearing pajamas. She proudly carried a tray towards me, it was overflowing with grilled pork, rice paper and a mixture of fresh herbs and leaves. Confidently, she demonstrated the process, wrapping the meat and herbs in to a tightly packed roll and then dipping it elegantly in to the sauce. It was raw perfection, roadside a la carte, created with love and pride. She waited in anticipation as I tasted her creation. The meat was as juicy as I imagined, smoky and oozing a sweet meaty zest. My smile was obvious and so she strode away happily. I let loose on the rest, tucking in with earnest. I made nothing short of a saucy mess, coating my hands and face in the incredible flavors. This is the beauty of street food. No rules, no plates and no formality. Just distractingly delicious, mind blowing creations by local people in local places.