Terrible Taro

I was preparing brown rice with curry for dinner.

Then my mother-in-law went into the kitchen. Moments later, a noxious odor overpowered the curry and wafted through the flat. It wasn't as awful as stinky tofu, but close.

"What are you boiling in here, an old shoe?" I asked, as my nose wrinkled in a vain attempt to ward off that rank reek.

Unperturbed by my wisecrack (she speaks little English), she laughed at my facial expression and pointed at the stove.

"Wuh tau," she said, laughing more as I retreated to my office to find the English name of the evil vegetable. It turned out to be taro root.

I'd first tried taro in Canada; I developed a strong and instant dislike for the tuber from the first mouthful. I made it a rule right then never to eat anything that can grow in a bog.

Now that I think of it, that does explain the swampy smell.

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