The most depressing meal of my life was white and yellow. That’s all I remember. As someone who spends her free waking hours trying to capture in words the look, taste, and texture of her food, I find this a little embarrassing. It tasted pale, and that’s the most I can say. Maybe it involved sticky rice and a crookneck squash, or a pallid filet of plain, white-fleshed fish. Maybe it was a
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