When attending university I had little in the way of resources and when, on infrequent occasions, I stepped out for a meal I was selective. At the time I was living in an old apartment building in an artsy neighborhood, whose main street was lined with shops, a nightclub or two, and a restaurant or two. An eclectic assortment of inhabitants wondered that street and the many side roads—older citizens who grew up there and operated proprietorships, customers who drove there to purchase avant-garde goods and paintings, druggies, students, and so on.

When sun set the clubs came alive and were packed until early morning last-calls. Each time doors flung open to release those wanting breath of air, music blared until doors closed muting reverberations. Though this might rob sleep from those calling it an early night, it never bothered me as I pictured revelers escaping from life’s routines and that vision somehow pleased me.

I believe it was Saturday evening when I decided to pay visit to one of the eating establishments. But a short walk from my dwelling, the air was cool and a coat was needed to keep warm despite proximity to destination. When I rounded corner, the thoroughfare was bustling with people, many arm-in-arm smiling as they strode by. I was flying solo having recently separated from the girl I had been seeing as school occupied most of my time leaving little for romance. Though I understood why she chose to move on, it was no fun to part ways and my decision to dine out was influenced by heart’s condition.

As I approached the eatery, I could see human line waiting for table which extended out door and down the street. I joined the others in queue wondering if I should try another café, but having no later plans I decided I would stay the course. Does it seem to you that all the world is pairs when a relationship ends? Well that was the view no matter direction turned.

I possessed no smart phone and had acquired newspaper before arrival and read as I slowly moved forward. After forty-five minutes elapsed, I stepped inside and was met with the fragrances of jasmine rice, curries, basil and spice. Thai was new to me and I had never inhaled such. The interior was very small, but nicely appointed with tables covered in white cloth, interesting artwork donning walls, and fresh flowers placed here and there. The maître d’ led me to a small corner table with a view through front window—I felt at home from the onset. My server, a young Asian woman, greeted me with genuine smile and asked if I wanted before dinner drink and I chose a Thai beer—I believe Singha—when in Rome as it were.

I perused menu while she fetched my brew. Not knowing anything about the cuisine I landed on spring rolls and spicy Thai basil with chicken. When my pleasant waitress returned she thoughtfully filled half my glass before asking for my selection. I indicated by pointing to open menu. She made notes on pocket sized order-pad and flashed that beautiful smile yet again before closing menu and walking determinedly toward kitchen. Unfolding paper, I began to read, but no article grabbed attention and I opted to observe those who crossed before the large pane of glass. This proved much more interesting, leading me to imagine who they were and what lives they led.

It wasn’t long before three small spring rolls were carefully placed in front of me. The plating was elegant, rectangular in shape, a colorful flower for garnish, and small square bowl with sauce for dipping. Hot from frying, I was astonished with the flavors that touched tongue. The appetizers were encased in crispy delicate pastry and the interior was stuffed with perfectly cooked vegetables each with their own flavor. Both shell and filling were nicely accompanied by the sweet sauce that boasted hints of chili and citrus. Though new to me, I knew directly I would never look at food the same way. As I was finishing the last delicious bit of roll, my entrée arrived and was another feast for the eyes and nose. The aromas of basil, jasmine, and spice that initially met my entrance now drifted upward from the dish on surface before me. Not knowing yet how to eat with sticks, I raised fork with equal parts vegetable, meat, and rice and tasted. For the second time in so many minutes I was amazed. I ate with great enjoyment, but chose not to finish the entire portion knowing the balance would make for awesome late night snack. As I walked out door, doggie bag in hand, I knew Thai had become my favorite and still is.

Since that evening I’ve had the pleasure of dining at many Thai restaurants across the US and as far away as Hong Kong. I now own wok and have learned to turn out my own versions, but I will never forget that magical meal had in small shop on cool autumn night.