When you travel, you learn to compromise, let go of familiarity, and adapt to the flavors around you. But when faced with a bottle of Sriracha in a land of essentially no spicy foods whatsoever, one can't help but hope to find in it some bit of comfort -- hot comfort. Alas, my friends, do not let your eyes deceive you. That bottle of Sriracha is an impostor, a result of some impressive false reproduction, reminiscent of that one movie with Leo -- Catch Me If You Can.
I got this kebab from a small vendor on my street and generously smothered it in with what I thought was Sriracha, and although it was delicious, (my theory is that a meal with bread, meat, and potatoes will forever be bulletproof, no matter which corner of the earth you find yourself), it was NOT SPICY. I think I speak for the other Californians here when I say that that's one thing I genuinely miss in food. Mom, if you're reading this, it would be so great if you sent me some real Sriracha in the mail.
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