Last week I mentioned that the lure of street food in all its greasy, scrumptious glory has finally proved too formidable for my tenuous willpower. Just about the time I was losing my hold on self-control, a little man set up a mobile fried shrimp restaurant right outside my apartment building. Mr. Lee (let's just him Mr. Lee--it's a safe bet) is now a nightly fixture outside Useong Apartments, his product sizzling in vats of boiling oil, sending wafts of fried goodness through the air. How's a girl to resist? It's particularly difficult to just-say-no on cold nights when Mr. Lee looks like such an unfortunate soul, bound to a life of frying street shrimp despite brutal winter weather.
Now Mr. Lee's little business endeavor has me battling my inner obese person on a daily basis. The battle between the fat devil on my right shoulder and the trim angel on my left begins about ten minutes before the bus drops me off outside my apartment building. The only thing saving me from utter gluttony is the fact that Mr. Lee has yet to discover a little secret known as cocktail sauce.
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