I first had Mapo Doufu on what was probably the coldest day of the year. We were in the midst of an ice rainstorm, and it was so cold, icicles were forming almost instantly on anything outside, living or otherwise. The streets had become slippery slides for automobiles and most of the sane and sensible were safely ensconced in warm homes underneath fuzzy blankets sipping hot cocoa, or perhaps something stronger.
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My niece is fond of saying no one ever cheers after eating
tofu but I beg to differ. I really like this dish. To me tofu has the
consistency of fresh mozzarella and a similar blandness that
allows it to blend well with almost any sauce. Unlike
mozzarella, though tofu retains its shape and doesn't melt. |
I, on the other hand, was walking the neighborhood taking pictures of nature's debacle. Just as I was about to call it an afternoon, I happened upon a poor postal worker with icicles hanging off the brim of her hat, delivering the last of the day's mail. She was a good sport and let me take a few pictures of her in such misery. It was then I noticed in the gathering grey twilight a little red and blue sign that said open in brash neon light.
It was the only cheery thing in sight. Downtown was otherwise locked up tight and the stores were all dark and vacant as mummy eyes. I wandered toward the sign with camera and curiosity in tow. Who was brave enough to remain open on a day like this, and what on earth were they doing?
