All summer long, when I was a kid, I simultaneously looked forward to and dreaded my mom’s barbecues. They were epic: loads of people, and all the food you could ever possibly want to eat. My favorite thing, and everyone else’s too, it seemed, was the chicken satay. Bright yellow, glistening, charred juicy skewers of chicken, just begging to be dipped into creamy, nutty sauce.
The reason I both loved and feared the barbecues was because I would be the one, in the days before the party, skewering hundreds, no, thousands of skewers of chicken. Okay, okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. But, seriously, it was in the hundreds for sure. My hands would get stained yellow and I would have this uncontrollable urge to constantly smelling my fingers because they smelled cumin – i hated it! It was sad but it was also worth it because food?