Powdered rice, Good Samaritan chucks it in, 7-11 couple with babe in arms

(file pic from the net - original lost)

Roasted rice, ground into powder, which serves as a thickening agent in northeastern-style Thai dishes, such as laab moo and yum.

Chef Maiyuu makes his own. He puts uncooked rice in a frypan and heats it on a stove. When it has browned, he puts it in the blender to turn it into the powder you see here.

Asked why he doesn’t simply use flour, he said the dish would change if he did.

‘For these Thai dishes, we have to use khaow kua (roasted rice). If we used flour, the dish would turn into something else.’

'Roasted' is a strange choice of word, I know, but it’s what the dictionary gives me.

The difference between ‘roasted’ rice and ordinary ‘fried’ rice is that fried rice has been boiled (khaow suey) before it hits the pan. Roasted rice (khaow kua) is raw rice, thrown on a saucepan with very little oil.

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Reader Lance urges me to take Maiyuu to a dentist, and Ball to a doctor.

We have covered this ground before. I can but encourage these people to see to their own health needs; I can’t force them anywhere.

If Maiyuu wants to see a dentist, he’s welcome. He has more than enough money saved, but has to take the next step himself.

Similarly, if Ball wants to see a doctor, I am sure his family could find a way. His mother spent B10,000 trying to get him to finish secondary school with a leaving qualification - without success, he told us the other night. Ball wasn't interested in studying, so kept bunking class.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way...but if Ball lacks the will to take the next step himself, there’s nothing the rest of us can do to help.

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I bumped in to Ball, his adopted baby sister, and girlfriend at the 7-11.

It was only midday, which was shockingly early for Mr Ball to be up and about.

I was surprised to find him there. It’s not often that I see his pale figure in daylight.

Ball was carrying his baby sister in his arms. His girlfriend, Jay, looked as proud as punch.

Here they were, just like a real husband, wife and doting child out together for a quick jaunt to the local convenience store.

‘What are you doing today?’ I asked.

‘I have no work to do, so will probably spend the day at home,’ he said.

About 11pm, I called carer R. He was manning his ya dong stand.

Mr Ball, and one other regular customer were there. The ya dong had run out, so they had started drinking something else.

R handed the phone straight to Ball, who invited me to call over on my way home from work.

I declined, as I preferred the idea of a quiet hour or two with the boyfriend before bed, rather than in the company of late-night boozers in the slum.