I love Asian grocery stores. All of those mysterious, oddly named ingredients-- stinky tofu, anyone? Anyone?-- the smell of rice and soy and dried mushrooms. I visit Asian Market on Central, near Hydraulic, often, because it is close to both the restaurant and home.
To me, there is nothing as sensually delightful as Asian grocery stores. They have their own character and are as organic and wild as Western groceries are sterile and packaged. As soon as you walk in to one you know you are no longer in the sanitized world of Dillon’s. Asian groceries can smell funky, spicy, and a little fermented. If they sell fresh seafood or meat you can smell that, too, a bass note of blood and sea to remind you that death and eating are vitally connected. Fruits of all sorts in varying stages of ripeness are jumbled all together, some softer and sweeter than othe