Sammys

Once upon a time, or maybe just 6 years ago, HuffPost made a post extolling the meat pie, Rou Jia Mo. "The world's first hamburger comes from China," Alison Spiegel, the author, begins with a passionate and irresponsible statement.

Even though this post got less attention than the real crowd size at some hypocritical alligators' rallies, and once again caused that fragile Chinese national pride to fly up to cloud 9 and stay there for five minutes, it had nothing to do with Rou Jia Mo.

My recollection of Rou Jia mo dates back to college lunchtime. When everyone else wriggled out of the teaching building like frenzied ants and rushed to the insipid canteen, I would dash to a small shop outside the school specializing in Rou jia mo and bring the food back to the crowded dormitory to savor it carefully. Oddly, I remember every step of chewing this small white baby. The dry, soft white bread is sliced down the middle and loaded with tasty, juicy pork and hot peppers, transforming the entire bun into a Pac-Man version of the Nightmare universe.

The first mouthful of Rou Jia Mo is delightful. With its seductive spiciness, the combination of crispy bread and soft meat inside is powerful enough to trigger the primitive desire to eat meat. The spiciness is so smooth and delicious that it doesn't stay long, much like an exclusive moment of passion on a summer afternoon. Soon, this piece of Rou Jia Mo has descended into your gut in a devastating form before you know it. At this point, an unseemly burp is the best way to honor the Rou Jia Mo you just had. 

And what does any of this have to do with me, who is now living on a different continent a few years later? It's a cloudless midnight on the Iberian Peninsula, and I'm hungry and homesick.