And so I carefully back up my car and barely graze the Benz as I ease out of the parking spot. There is something to be said about renting the smallest car possible. I zoom out of the parking lot and drive down a one-way street (as is customary here), only to bring my car to a screeching halt. I run into rush hour traffic at 3 p.m., because this is the time that people make their way home for their afternoon nap and to prepare for iftar.
Needless to say, I am the last person to make it into the grocery store, only to find that the stir fry mix we get in the U. S. is not available. Thanks to some quick thinking and nearly an hour of searching, I am able to purchase the needed ingredients. As to how the stir fry turned out? I used my 6-year-old son, who was the only person in the family not fasting and the one with the most discriminating palate, as my taster.
After he sampled the sauce, he said, "Yes, baba. This tastes like America."