February Food Musing
Greetings! I am a poet turned memoirist. I used to teach writing to kids of all ages, but now I get to write anytime I want.
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As a child, I was introduced to the world of food at my church. Even though my family lived in a cracker-box house in a far-flung suburb of Chicago, every Sunday we made the hour trek north to downtown Chicago to attend services at The First United Methodist Church, fondly called The Temple.
While some of my experiences at that church are a part of my memoir-in-progress, I’ve never written about one of the greatest gifts from my years there: an appreciation for world cuisine.
Because of its downtown location, The Temple gathered people from all over the world. At the monthly potlucks that are an important part of Methodist culture, the food offerings went far beyond American fried chicken and mac-and-cheese. I tasted Mrs. Chavez’s real Mexican tacos, Filipino pancit and Indian curry prepared by Miss Mani.
I didn’t know it then but sampling those foods at a young age planted a desire for food adventures that has never left me. When I had the opportunity to travel to Spain in 1973 with my high school Spanish class, I had my first chance to find such an adventure on my own.
I am still amazed at how much freedom our teacher gave that rambunctious group of American teenagers. She was our only chaperone and left us to roam the streets of Madrid on our own.
Spain was still a Fascist country under the dictatorship of Francisco Franco. There were no American fast food chains or stores. We had eaten a lot of jamón y queso sandwiches for lunches. Some of our group were homesick for hamburgers. We found a listing for a Whimpy’s Burgers in the telephone book and headed out.
The burger place wasn’t where we thought it should be but there was a restaurant. Starving by this time, we pulled open the heavy door of the building only to be confronted by a set of rickety stairs. Some of the group fled back to our hotel but the rest of us bravely trooped up the steps to find ourselves in a small café. We were the only tourists.
On the menu I found a listing for a tortilla española. Of course, I knew about tortillas. I’d eaten tacos wrapped in them. Mrs. Chavez had shown me how to make them. I also knew that Spanish food wasn’t like Mexican. So what could this tortilla mean? Instead trying to use my broken Spanish to ask the waiter, I ordered it.
When that tortilla came, it turned out to be an omelet crisply fried, filled with potatoes and onions. After one first bite, I knew was this was what I wanted for my life, this sampling new tastes, going up dark stairways to find where they led. This had to be part of my life.
Since that time I’ve traveled as much as I could. Often it was the word in my mouth that I loved first. I’ve ordered things without knowing what they were, but sometimes have gotten the names wrong. Once in France I ordered poussin (chicken) thinking I was ordering poisson (fish). That was an unexpected language lesson.
A very young lisa in Germany.
But on my first trip to Europe alone in my late 20’s, I ordered rinderzunge because I knew enough German to translate the rinder as beef. I figured out the second part of the word when I felt the texture: tongue. I had to lay my fork down after that.
That didn’t stop me. Even so, I haven’t enjoyed everything I’ve ordered since then. In France I found that I don’t like cerveaux (brains), but I love ris de veau (sweetbreads). In Venice, I savored fegato con cipolle which was much better than the liver and onion soup my mother used to make.
On my first night in Thailand, in my soup I found round balls that tasted rather like liver. They were strangely metallic so I ate around them. Days later on a market tour I discovered they were balls of duck blood. I also didn’t enjoy the morcilla (blood sausage) I tried on my last visit to Spain.
Those meals make great party conversation. Often people are aghast, asking me how I could put such things in my mouth. To me, it’s all part of tasting the world around me. I’ll never eat many dishes again, but I think of all the deliciousness I would have missed if I hadn’t opened my mouth to brave new flavors.
Today I dug out the notebook I kept on that first European trip. For the last two weeks I traveled alone in Paris and Belgium. I had to guard my money tightly. Every day’s entry listed whether I was above or below budget. And every entry described the foods I ate that day: a crèpe filled with coconut, Charlotte au citron vert, a type of bread surprisingly different from a baguette. Even the different sauce on the Big Mac I ate one snowy night when I got lost and wound up settling for but McDonald’s.
All those meals, good and bad leading me to a big pot of moules frites on my birthday in Paris last December. I’m still exploring our world taste by taste, word by word.
YOUR TURN
Try something new today (or tomorrow). If you love food, taste something you’ve never tried. Or perhaps you want to try a new cocktail, walk a path you’ve never taken or start a new hobby. It could be anything that you think might give you pleasure.
I’d love to hear from you. Let me know what you tried. Who knows - you might give me some ideas to try.
BOOK RECOMMENDATION
The Full Catastrophe, a memoir by Casey Mulligan Walsh tells the story of a woman trying to live her best life while facing devastating losses. Just released, you can listen to a fascinating interview with Casey on Lisa Cooper Ellison’s podcast, Writing Your Resilience. Find the listing HERE.