Maybe it's the stark severity of a minimalist sushi bar that somehow illogically invokes a feeling of serenity when you sit down, wipe your bare skin of the ugly outside world with a steaming hot towel, and piece by piece, you experience the pure power of raw. Perhaps you're in some weird voyeuristic trance as you watch the way those long, slender chopsticks move together in perfect rhythm as they pierce into the simple innocence of a soft, shimmering mound of steamed white rice over and over again. The tantric temptation of an Indian curry that is so fiery hot it makes you weep. The allure of a hot sauna that purges your mind and body, as you sweat it out, bent over a boiling hot bowl of yook-gae-jahng.
You just don't know what it is, but then, you know exactly what it is. It's the Asian Persuasion.
I tried to resist. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. I couldn't resist, especially when there's a Thai Elvis involved. Besides, no matter how much meatloaf, matzoh ball soup, or moussaka I make, I always have been and always will be Asian. LOL!
Or maybe I should stop spewing such malarkey when I'm delirious from late-night Bunny feedings. Asian just very simply...tastes good.