The wedding guest in the Chang wifebeater

Lian is determined that I will look sharp -- or at least her notion of "sharp" -- when we attend her niece's wedding next week in her hometown of Nasan.

Her idea, not mine.

One afternoon she returns from Warorot Market bearing a horizontal-striped (ugh!) long-sleeved pullover, supposedly their largest such garment in stock. It fits me the way Bruce Banner's shirts fit the Hulk. Chagrined, she exchanges the now-defiled pullover for a crisp, powder-blue dress shirt. A winner!

But Lian thinks my shirt-and-slacks ensemble needs a finishing touch, and she finds it the next evening among the tourist swag at Anusan Market. "Do you like?" she smiles, holding up a cream-colored tank top shirt with a great big Chang beer logo on the front. She is not kidding.

"Uhhhh ..." I respond. "You think it's polite for a wedding?"

"Polite, chai," she assures me. "Can wear not button a little, people see shirt but not the picture. Make you look young more, handsome more." Flatterer.

All righty then: One week from Friday as the sole outsider at a proper Thai Buddhist wedding, depending on how hot the day is, I might be just a few buttons away from being a lumbering, sweating beer promotion. I promise pictures!

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Cheeseburger IS paradise.

Twice this week I've escaped Thailand for an emergency infusion of home flavors and aromas at The Duke's. Just a five-minute walk away, this wonderful-smelling American-style grill serves up mega-portions of ribs, steaks, burgers, pizza, Mexican platters, salads, sandwiches ... I need to stop before I recite the entire, food porn-y menu.

One evening when I know that Lian is away at work for at least an hour, I pop around the corner for a basic Duke's burger and fries that back home would be considered pedestrian at best; tonight it's the tastiest thing I've ever put in my mouth. A few days earlier my Duke's fix takes the form of a solo margarita stop on the way home from fitness.

I used to scorn the farang who ate at The Duke's for their lack of culinary adventure or commitment to the local cuisine. But now, two years into this part-time expat life, there are moments when I almost gag at the thought of another god-damned bowl of blistering southern curry and bony fish soup. Or anything that involves rice. 

By the way: The Duke's serves no rice. Now I understand why.