Half of every journey happens at the table
I remember destinations through flavors: the smoky comfort of pastil, the roasted depth of tablea, the confrontational genius of durian, a family hotpot in Hong Kong, and coffee in Vietnam that ruined ordinary coffee for me.
Ten days, two brothers, one endlessly energetic city. GrabCars that cost almost nothing, coffee that ruined me for ordinary coffee, and an afternoon with cats in District 1.
This trip was meant to be one of Dad's birthday gifts. He passed away a month before our flight. We went anyway — and carried him with us through Macau and Hong Kong.
Island hopping around Samal, my first pastil, warm tablea, and the moment I finally faced durian — the trip that taught me food is half the journey.