I seem to be on the "Eat Whatever the Hell You Feel Like Diet" and it's not
appearing to be doing me major harm. An essential part of this diet is the ingestion of a balanced quantity of junk food. Two classes of this
might, perhaps, be distinguished: travelling and stationary.
Travelling
junk food is prepared for an extended period on rail or road with irregular or non-existent
meals. Here, a trip to the local supermarket is in order, and this can
be an adventure in itself as when you can't understand what's written on packets
choosing snacks can be a matter of pot luck. It's not necessarily
obvious what things taste like, and even
when - with Western Expectations - things have an "obvious" taste,
there's no guarantee that things made by Eastern Manufacturers will
match it. There have been
biscuits that were simultaneously both sweet and
savoury, jellies whose gelatine may have been yak-derived, and dried fruit that's been pickled, salted, or even just dried differently from fruit in
Australia. Under such circumstances it can sometimes be safer to seek familiar items.
A
jar of Peanut Butter found in the supermarket at Chongqing was thus a
welcome discovery. There were, perhaps, too many peanuts to eat in
China (there have been quite a few meals where fried peanuts were one of the main
dishes) but peanut butter was nice and safe; a reasonable accompaniment
for plain crackers on a long train journey. A third of a
jar of peanut butter later I was peanut-buttered-out but I kept the jar
until Pokhara, on the theory that I'd eventually become
unpeanut-buttered-out. By the time that I was, minuscule ants had
managed to traverse the threads of the lid and invade the jar.
I once
wrote that whenever I get down, I give thanks that I
don't have a peanut allergy. Somewhat exaggerated but true - it gives
perspective, peanuts
being present in so much cooking. By coincidence two members of the
Tibet trip have peanut allergies (thankfully mild), which meant they
had to select their dishes carefully while in China - Chengdu is in the
heart of Szechuan, after all.
Stationary junk food, on the other hand, can provide a way to
recentre and connect to the past after an overload of new or unusual
flavours, whether as a meal or snack. For instance after weeks of
noodle soups, stir fries, or rice dishes, pizzas or burgers can come as
a welcome return to some measure of the familiar. I've written once
before, for instance, about really wanting some properly-done roast
chicken with all the trimmings. Western junk food should not
necessarily be thought of as worse nutritionally than more local
cuisine, though. In travelling, there are periods where you'll eat
days if not weeks of oil-drenched stir-fried dish upon oil-drenched deep-fried dish upon oil-soaked soup - for safety if nothing
else. Under such circumstances pancakes, pizzas, burgers, and other slightly-less oily comestibles can come as gastronomic relief.
Fortunately
most places which cater for western tourists cater for western
tourists. For instance Leisha's in Langmusi did excellent food with
fine vegetable burgers and plate-sized yak burgers too large for all
but the most rapacious of eaters (those who finish get their name
posted but may yak). As with so many places, what's on their menu
doesn't necessarily meet expectations, however: their apple pies were
very good but essentially turnovers, and their chocolate brownies not
so very good but essentially chocolate-chip cookies. Worse, though, is
where the junk food is done badly. Dal bhat is the nutritious and
filling staple while trekking from lodge to lodge in Nepal. After five
straight days of it I was ready for a veggie pizza. I got a veggie and
salt pizza and was back on the dal bhat the next night.
On the
snack front, Saigonese creme caramels were wonderful, I dislike Tim
Tams but was glad nonetheless to see snack-sized packs in Indonesia,
and practically never drink Coke or Fanta of any variety in
Australia but there have been a couple of days when it's been
practically intravenous. Speaking of fizzy drinks, when I ordered a
soda water on my first night in Indonesia it came in a Fanta-branded bottle. I
also discovered rust stains around the mouth of the bottle, so left it
untasted. Glass bottles are recycled over and over, and it takes a
while to get used to the rust. Plastic water bottles in Nepal have a
"Crush after Using" advisory on their label to prevent them from being
reused; it seems that otherwise there's a risk of them being refilled and sold.
But I digress; back to snacks.
Chocolate in Asia is often of poor quality. Often sugar is higher than
cocoa solids, and in places such as Malaysia and Indonesia, palm oil is
used, which gives quite a noticeably different flavour. Dark chocolate
seems to be distinguished more by colour than anything else: 20 or 30
percent is common, and if you find anything above 50%, it's almost
certainly European. One particularly unpurchased and untasted brand of dark chocolate
in China used "Cocoa Butter Substitute", also known as "vegetable oil",
to augment its 5% cocoa solids.
Nepali chocolate, mostly imported from
India, has something new: artificial flavouring in the chocolate. I
don't think that there are sufficient words to accurately describe how
vile and chemical Nepali KitKats are. Good chocolate, by the way, is
close to being a necessity while trekking - a nice little energy boost
while at altitude. I took a couple of blocks of 75%, but many make do
with Snickers and Mars bars, which are available at a premium at every
lodge.
Zhang Mu was the last place we stayed in China; a border town whose
shops had familiar-looking junk food brought over from Nepal. After
we'd changed money and eaten, Colin still had some spare yuan so he
decided to treat us to Real Chocolate. There was no question about
which one we'd choose. "Toblerone", said Japp; "Toblerone" said Julia;
"Toblerone" said I. "Four Toblerones", said Colin, and the shopkeeper
passed over four bars of milk chocolaty sweetness. A shop or three up
the hill we discovered that there were dark chocolate Toblerones to be
had in Zhang Mu. Colin went over to try to negotiate a swap while I
tried to refrain from laughing hysterically at his chutzpah.
It was not entirely surprising that the shopkeeper refused to take him
up on his offer but "It was worth a try", he said and, to be fair, it was.
The
prospect of real chocolate, or at least more-real chocolate than we'd
had in a month or more, was enough to give us a temporally-displaced
sugar rush. "Zhhhhhhhhhm", said Japp, brandishing his bar.
"...Zhhhhhhhm", said I, making the connection, and we mock-duelled our way
from the street into the hotel lobby, getting some odd looks from those
present. There's a distinct possibility that the phrase "Help me
Tobler One. You're my only hope." was uttered. What can I say? One
has to revel in one's immaturity while one can.
