The Lady of My (Mango) Heart 

  I found someone else who’s fallen under the spell of the mango sticky rice lady in the Chiang Mai morning market. At a bar that alternately did and did not sell beer on a religious holiday, I met Elizabeth. 
She seemed nice enough and we bonded over our mutual love of Mango Sticky Rice. We were talking about the best we’ve ever had and, to my dismay and pleasure both, her stories began to sound eerily familiar. The perfection of the rice. A mole. The sweet mango clinging to the firm seed. 
Elizabeth showed me a photo of her mango sticky rice lady. I showed her a picture of my last mango sticky rice from Chiang Mai. It was the same woman.
Since leaving Chiang Mai, Elizabeth too had searched but found no one to compare to our mutual beloved. Sure, we experimented once we left her cool and sweet charms. It’s only natural. But in the end, no one compares to our lady of the assertive mole and brusque tenderness. Her rice, her firm and sweet mangoes are incomparable.
The world is a small and beautiful place. Especially when you find people who share the same passions along the way.

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