“Mas Que Nada” by Tamba Trio plays in the background… “O que eu quero � Samba…” [Portugese] “What I want is to Samba…”

I polished off all the remaining dim-sum from the steamer in the kitchen as a late breakfast yesterday before leaving to go to work. With no delicious dim-sum to nourish my grumpy insomniac belly this morning, I set out to the office on an empty stomach, all the while craving about the bamboo steamed marvel that is dim-sum. “My cravings should subside,” I repeated to myself along the way.

Things were going well till near lunch time. Then, like a live electrode to my torso, it hit me. I needed to eat. I had gone without breakfast just as many times as I’ve had hot dinners so by now, I should be a professional. I was magically transported back to around a month and a half ago… San Francisco. Chinatown. Dim-Sum lunch specials. Sushi, tempura and teriyaki lunch specials. Breakfast of champions.

As the image of the sandwiches I had packed this morning sharpened focus in my mind’s eye, my stomach let out a growl. My stomach and I have kind of a symbiotic relationship. We used to always get along, like that very time a month and a half ago in San Francisco where breakfasts made me feel like a champ. But now in the present, here’s how the conversation would have gone if my stomach had evolved from simple growling to coherent speech:

Me: Woah, am I feeling hungry right now!
Stomach: Feed me dim-sum.
Me: Hmmm, what did I pack again this morning for lunch?
Stomach: Feed me dim-sum.
Me: Dang, sandwiches.
Stomach: Feed me dim-sum.
Me: I don’t fancy these. What I’d really like right now is some dim-sum.
Stomach: FEED ME DIM-SUM.
Me: But it’s impossible. There is no way I could get my hands on some, right now.
Stomach: Feed me dim-sum.
Me: I may as well just try to forget about it.
Stomach: Feed me dim-sum.
Me: The nearest dim-sum vendor must be like a 20 minute train ride away.
Stomach (evolves via spontaneous mutation. Receives new power: sarcasm): Don’t think about it. Just do it.
Me: I mean, I could just tell the boss something came up and then just go to Chinatown.
Stomach: Don’t think about it. Just do it.
Me: But it’s too much trouble. I’ll just have to get some next time I’m in Chinatown.
Stomach: Don’t think about it. Just do it.
Me: This is realistic. I’ll have sandwiches now, dim-sum tomorrow.
Stomach (evolves via spontaneous mutation. Capable of reverse psychology): Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
Me: Right, it’s settled. Now where’d I leave my sandwiches?
Stomach: Bastard.

I tucked into my sandwiches. Dry. They were dry and didn’t have the same texture, consistency or marvelous sheen as dim-sum. However, I was content.

Stomach: Bloody traitor.
Me: Oh well, better than nothing.
Stomach: I’ll show you.

I had some time to kill and deciding to catch up with the news, I started my web-browser. Checked out Ben’s journal and suddenly, I could hear what sounded like maniacal laughter from deep inside me.

Stomach: Muahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

In a nasty spell of bad chance, Ben had decided to post a picture of his lunch from the other day… a plate of mouth-watering dim-sum. It may as well have been served on the midriff of a belly dancer for all I could notice. It was the revenge my stomach could only have previously dreamt of. That picture alone was able to satisfy me in ways that slices of smoked ham, Emmental cheese, iceberg lettuce and two chunks of bread could never do. Beads of sweat collected around my forehead; my brow shivering and soaked through like a dog left out in the rain. I still had a Snickers bar, I could make it. I could reach into my magical colour monitor and pull out the same dim-sum right off the screen. Or I could just stop dreaming and stuff that chocky bar into my gullet. It transpired that I had no hope of winning today.

Me (in slow motion for dramatic effect): Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

My hallucinations stopped. Every fibre of my being had tried to resist the dim-sum I was fantasizing about, but I had run out of juice to fight. My stomach had won the battle for the day. But rest assured, the war was not over. We would fight again another day. Here’s the silver lining in this one: it was a good thing we’re not living in the times of smell-o-vision otherwise I might have busted a nut. Literally.

Lesson of the day: Never pass up a gut feeling, especially if it’s about food. You may regret it later {whaps forehead}.