A fourteen-day self-quarantine strains the willpower horribly when you’re dropped into a new city and want nothing more than to explore. The weather is nice, thousands of things yearn to be discovered, and I’m holed up in this–admittedly really nice–apartment making shitty artwork with leftover Ikea boxes and a sharpie. I feel tied to the mast, listening to the enchanting music of the city.
One avenue of investigation does remain, though, and that is food delivery. Fine cuisine brought right to your door by some rando on a bicycle! Here’s our second meal in the flat, on our newly-assembled table, from the first Uyghur restaurant I’ve ever seen.
I also appreciate the truth in advertising: spicy means spicy. After a decade and a half in Portland, OR I have come to look with derision and contemptuous disdain for “nuclear” sauces, hot wings with bullshit waivers, and those milquetoast Balls of Fire. But Kanway? Kanway brings the pain!