More for Me

"More for you"

Americans are coddled meat-eaters. In a land apparently renowned for its steak eating (everyday someone asks me if I miss sa-take), we're pretty choosy about our meat. Skin, gristle, and blood are all discarded and only tolerated in hot dogs. If it's not chicken breast or a quality filet mignon, most Americans say, "give it to the dogs."

Thais feel very differently; their dogs don't get perfectly good pieces of pork skin. To a Thai, pork just tastes better if there's skin on it and the skin still has few stray hairs sticking out of it. Chicken fat is first scooped into my bowl of rice to make sure I get some, and then later scooped out to make sure it doesn't go to waste.

My spoiled American diet confuses my Thais. And the confusion goes both ways. The hummus I brought to our potluck lunch was not embraced. Cheese is looked down upon. And although salsa is almost exactly like Thai food, it is poo-pooed.

Though now we've reached a kind of understanding. If we're eating curry, I'll pick out most of the vegetables and a few skinless pieces of breast meat and everyone else will eat the marrow, liver, intestines, and- if there's fish- the head. People have given up on saving the prized chunks for me. They don't understand our culture's organ meat aversion but now they don't have to share.

Our stalemate might best be described by the  phrase I taught my office on hummus day, "More for me." The Tessaban ladies felt guilty for not liking hummus, "it doesn't taste good with rice." No shit. It's not supposed to go on rice. But I just smiled and explain why it's okay because now there's, "more for me."

The new expression has really caught on.  And it's meaning has expanded. Like today, Bob Dylan's 71st birthday, I played Desolation Row in the office. My friend Ning gave me a confused smile and said, "More for you."