Growing up, it was about breakfast. My father shook the top of my duvet until I cracked my eyes open - or, if he was feeling funny that morning, would gently place his index finger horizontally across my nostrils, giggling to himself as my eyelids flew open, satisfied that I was sufficiently awake. One day it might be a reheated frozen muffin - a 700- calorie monstrosity from a megapack …
There’s Virtue in Bland Food – Or, How I Found Home in Hong Kong Macaroni SoupRead More