Diesel Chicken

Donovan's an adventurous fellow - he has to have the
local fare wherever locals eat - pretty much the
humblest looking establishments.  So on the first day
in Kathmandu, we find ourselves wandering into a
canteen.  It looks like a makeshift restaurant at best
- metal sheet roofing with blocks of wood wedged in
the rafters to balance the roof out.  

It definitely is a humble place, but the price is
right - 20 rupees for a plate of momos (Tibetan
steamed dumplings) or 5 rupees for samosas ($1 US = 72
rupees; $1 Cdn = 62 rupees).  I hesitate for a moment,
but Donovan had already ordered and his plate looked
great.  Everything is made fresh right in front of us.
 I order a vegetarian momo dish, complete with hot
sauce and a hint of curry.  I will say now that the
momos here are the best I will encounter in Nepal -
even beating a 5-star restaurant I will venture into
later.

Turns out the canteen's popularity has extended past
locals though.  On more careful inspection of the
premises, a full Japanese menu is posted.  

Problem is, the next morning Donovan and I are out and
about seeking the canteen again, but we're still new
to the crazy, winding streets of Thamel (Kathmandu
district we're staying in), and we end up wandering
small, unpaved alleys.  There are numerous food stalls
on the ground floor of these buildings.  They have no
doors - just a dusty cloth serving as the entrance
barrier.  

I tell Donovan as we attempt entry into one place,
"The windows are cracked and there's a curtain for the
door."

"It keeps the pollution out."

Problem is, we have an appetite for momos, and all
these places only serve daal bhaat, Nepal's national
dish and staple.  There are several variations on daal
bhaat, but it pretty much consists of steamed rice,
and sides of a spinach, some pickled vegetables, soupy
lentils to mix with the rice, and sometimes vegetable
or mutton curry.  It's always all-you-can-eat, and for
the variations without the curry, it's pretty plain
fare.  Oh, and it's always eaten with your right hand
only just like in India because the left hand is
reserved for dirtier activities like cleaning your
bum.

I'm not too fond of these stalls anyways, partly
because their meat sources are across the street,
chicken and slabs of meat sitting exposed to the
traffic pollution on a table and festering in hot
weather.  I could actually see a film of particles
accumulated on the chicken in one place.  Diesel
chicken is what I call it.  We end up settling in
another canteen.

Eating is kind of a tough choice at the beginning of
the trip because on one hand, I don't want to get
diarrhea.  On the other hand, I don't want to short
myself from some great local food.  Unlike Donovan,
Jen takes the safe route by confining herself to power
bars for the first little while.  I don't blame her
though - she threw up out the side of a bus on the
first day out, almost taking out a motorbike with her
vomit.  And I have to admit for the first few days,
each time I made a successful trip to the squatter, I
celebrated a small victory.

But having Donovan around is great because I end up
acquainting myself with the food faster than I
normally would have.  By the time we're back from
trekking, I'm taking the lead and venturing to all
the street food vendors.  I don't know what half the
food is, but I just simply order one of everything.