Curry is my fiery friend.
Especially Sri Lankan curry — bold, generous with spice, never apologetic. But really, any curry will do. They arrive like storytellers, each with a different accent, a different rhythm, always leaving the air fragrant long after the plate is cleared.
Vietnamese food is the unassuming poet.
Even in the simplest banh mi there’s a kind of grace — crusty bread giving way to pork and coriander. And I love anything with a bright, fresh whisper of mint.
Amok trey, Cambodia’s national dish, is the romantic.
A fragrant coconut fish curry, gently steamed in banana leaves. It doesn’t shout, it murmurs. It carries tenderness, almost like a love letter wrapped in green.
Italian food is the honest companion.
No pretense, no performance — just good bread, olive oil, tomatoes that taste of the sun. A meal that leans back in the chair, pours another glass of wine, and asks about your day.
Cajun food is the lively character.
Full of spice, a little smoky, always surprising. It keeps you awake, keeps you laughing, keeps you wanting just one more bite to see what happens next.
And then there’s home.
Fresh Australian produce — mangoes, pineapples, avocado. Keep it fresh and simple, and you won’t go wrong.
The Afterword 
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