Roadside Tofu

I step out of the forest, my arm bleeding, my skin slick with sweat, blood, and fresh rainwater. My guidebook is a smeared heap of now-recyclable mush. I ascend up the street, water pouring over my toes as if they’re unyielding rocks in a thrashing river. I’m drenched, out of sorts, and lost; yet oddly less concerned about the wild monkey bite on my arm than my next meal. I’m hungry!
Our eyes meet through a section of the dilapidated and foggy display case of bubblegum, cigarettes, and vibrant Balinese candy arranged perfectly in no order. We exchange cordial grins, his serene disposition drawing me towards his counter. He must have something homemade.
I insinuate with two fingers and a hungry smile at a mound of triangle-shaped sticky rice pillows wrapped tightly within banana leaves. Before I can pull out my soaked bills, Komang motions me to bamboo bench next to his roadside “shop”, sloped nearly to the ground from years of use and fast-snacking locals.
As if treating me to an impromptu tasting menu, Komang makes the short stride to my haven on rickety and well-traveled knees. One by one he boastfully presents me with morsels of perfectly juicy chicken wrapped in fragrant pandan leaves, prawn crackers with sea bean salad, curiously perfect dices of cucumber smothered in peanut sauce. I sit, wet to the bone watching mopeds with families of 4 whiz by churning mud. He hands me what I reckon is his favorite; puffy tofu pockets stuffed to the brim with local herbs, bean sprouts and rice noodles, their savoriness insanely gratifying when bitten into. This is the tastiest thing I’ve ever eaten.
My epiphany comes as I swallow my 4th tofu nugget. My accidentally-on-purpose time with Komang is exactly what I want. We sit for 2 hours, taking in his culture, shielded from the frenetic scurry of the storm, chickens crossing the road, children sloshing barefoot in fresh island rain. We cheers over ice cold Bintang and I am never more pleased to be lost.