32Dead grass crunched under my Toyota’s tires as I followed the driveway up to Woody’s A-frame.
The sun was sinking toward the distant Pacific. Long beams of golden light and longer shadows lay in bars across the barren hillside.
The mingled scents of sesame oil and bean sauce wafted my way from the take-out cartons in my rear seat.
The love affair between spring rolls, Woody, and me was long-running.
When he was twelve years old, Bella had taken a job at the American embassy in Denmark.
I’d wangled a temporary duty assignment to Copenhagen. Once a week, all summer long, I picked up takeout from a Chinese restaurant and shared it with Bella and Woody.
Every culture modifies the spring roll recipe. In Denmark, pork was a key ingredient and fennel and caraway seeds were part of the mix
