Unpacking a stacked sack to unleash a Chinese feast is another lesser event that Tamalehawk cherishes, though it is rife with tension. Did the soy coyly deploy? Did lo mein strain through the container, campaigning to stain Tamalehawk's vanes? Quickly egg rolls are controlled, won tons are encroached upon, and fried rice is spliced into a crested nest for the mess of szechuan pork to rest.
Chinese food sometimes gets a bad rap, touted as heavy and hit or miss, but Tamalehawk loves the chance to dot hot mustard on broccoli and rifle through noodles, searching to unearth a squad of peapods. The next day, crouched and scowling at the barren expanse that is his fridge, he's happy to spot a trove of leftovers hiding inside.
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