Trusting them as failsafe, Potstickers or Kothays are with what I habitually kick off my frequent binges at Thakali. Like chubby babies sitting facedown with burnt bums jutting skyward, they tickled not differently from last time. Shapale, or semi-circular bread filled with minced chicken and cabbage, was modest, delicious and true to its native plainness. But. But. But. Choila, the lush salad of the highlands, undid all by holding in a miserly bowl the charred remains of Pompeii as diced pork tossed with chillies, cilantro and onion. #uncookedwords
Unfortunately, if I am eating beneath my taste is an awareness that always dawns later than it ought to.
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