It’s amazing the way sound becomes embedded in our psyche. I went for a run through the neighborhoods around Chautauqua, here in Boulder, and I heard it: the unmistakable clank of a spatula against a wok. I followed the sound and peeked through a fence to find a little backyard rotunda, obviously an outdoor kitchen of sorts. Someone was cooking, and the sound instantly transported me to another place. Clink clank clank clink. A few birds, a little breeze, traffic in the background. These are the sounds of Southeast Asian food.