Jelly Juice

I had an unusual experience today. I was given the great gift of a "day off." I drove a friend to the airport for an early flight and was out of my house by 5:45 a.m. He was at the airport by 7:30 and I was sipping a hot cup of joe and reading the New York Times in Starbucks by 7:45 a.m. (Can you use cup of joe and Starbucks in the same sentence? I am not sure... but I am sure I ordered "small" instead of "tall," so I need to keep my error consistent).

Anyway.... I had the gift of time today. Time to read the paper, time to walk up and down every aisle at Target, time to call my mother, time to peruse the wine selection, time to try clothes on rather than just throwing them on the counter and telling myself I could always exchange them later, time to consider the latest best sellers at the book store and even read the back covers, time to sit and eat lunch with chopsticks, time to visit my grandmothers who both happen to be in the same hospital. I had time.

The unusual part came when I happened to stumble on an Asian market. This was something I wanted to do, but didn't think I had the time. I wasn't sure how to find it. I thought it was out of my way. But one wrong turn, and there it was.

I felt a little trepidation walking in... the kind I feel in the weight room at the gym. I have belonged to the gym for seven years, but every time I go in the weight room, I know everyone knows I am an impostor. Secretly, they laugh. Look at those arms... they haven't seen a weight heavier than an once of 70% chocolate in years. Ha. Look at those legs. They couldn't run a mile unless a starving lion was after them and there was a gigantic sale on coats and shoes at the end. That was what I felt. An impostor. You are more authentic than you were a year ago, I told myself. There are 200 homemade dumplings in the freezer. You not only own a wok, but two bamboo steamers. Still nervous. Fish sauce, chili sauce, sesame oil, rice wine vinegar are all stocked in your cabinet. A little better. Rice noodles, wonton wrappers, seaweed. You have them. You are not a fraud. You can speak a tiny bit of Chinese... I was still ill at ease.

And then the unusual part. I walked in. It smelled heavily of fish. I looked around. Bok choy. Little candies. Dried mushrooms. Fish in tanks. Giant shelled things. I felt okay. I felt better than okay. I felt comfortable. Almost at home. And that was weird. We were only in China for 17 days, but such an intense, submerged 17 days, that I actually felt at home in this little market.

I walked slowly up and down the aisles because I had the time. I bought bok choy and glass noodles, the little glutinous rice cakes we ate for breakfast at the hotels, round dumpling wrappers, jelly juice (a disgusting, gelatinous creation Alex loved trying in Nanjing) and yes, there on the shelf were bottles and bottles of the slightly sweet green tea I fell in love with somewhere between Beijing and Guangzhou. For the sake of adventure, I threw in a few unknowns, promising myself I'd be back with a list of ingredients for dishes I wanted to try.

I checked out, happy and thanked the woman in Chinese. She didn't answer. But I am pretty sure she didn't see me as an impostor. Impostors would never buy a food called "glutinous rice" anything.