I do a lot of stupid things in name of nostalgia. This morning I did this.
I hate this stuff; I always have. I had to eat it every morning when I lived in Beijing. I was staying with a young couple for a month, while I was enrolled in a university there. My rent included breakfast and dinner. If I would have realized what breakfast and dinner was going to look like, I wouldn’t have considered that such a good deal. Every morning, I got one package of this stuff, some boiled water and a boiled egg. Every night, I got stir-fried spinach, sometimes with boiled peanuts. I felt a little like Cinderella. I lost a lot of weight.
Anyway, this stuff tastes like charcoal, mixed with saw dust, mixed with gruel. Delicious! It also happens to be a very disturbing black-purple color. But that isn’t going to stop me from eating it–if I’m feeling nostalgic. What is the worst thing nostalgia has ever made you do?